


The Other Queen

by absolutethronestrash



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jonerys, Season8, season7au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 01:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 63,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13988022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absolutethronestrash/pseuds/absolutethronestrash
Summary: Also posted on Fanfiction.net!I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES this is just a story.What if Arya had gone to Kings Landing and killed Cersei? How would that have impacted the Dragonstone storyline of season 7? Story starts just around the end of the cave scene in episode 4. Season 7 spoilers, eventual Jonerys. All reviews welcome!





	1. Chapter 1 - Daenerys

“I will fight for you. I will fight for the North…”

Jon Snow looked her in the eyes again, which made her stomach flutter, though she did not even acknowledge it to herself. She could see a glimmer of gratitude and something that was perhaps disbelief, in the Northerner’s eyes. The Warden of the North who was calling himself King. The thought made Daenerys angry. She was the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms – and the North was one of those kingdoms. And yet…

No. No, no, no. Of course she wasn’t finished.

“…when you bend the knee.”

The gratitude and hope were gone, and were instantly replaced with a deep sadness. Part of Daenerys felt bad. There was such a woeful look in the Northern lord’s dark eyes, and she was fully aware that she was the cause of it. Yet she steeled herself. Jon Snow shouldn’t have been so stubborn in the first place. She should have insisted that he swore fealty back in the throne room when they first met. She should have taken him outside to be roasted by Drogon for refusing to follow an order. Dany simply couldn’t see why Tyrion liked him.

Yet she couldn’t feel angry towards him, not really. He had been honest with her from the start, a trait that not many people possessed. He had to be a great warrior to do the things Ser Davos had said he did, and he genuinely seemed to have the North’s best interests at heart. At the very least, you’re better than Cersei. His words flashed through her mind. Maybe she could change his way of thinking: he did seem so keen on defeating whatever he’d seen beyond the Wall. Which happened to be real, if the Children of the Forests’ cave paintings were anything to go by.

It seemed like an eternity of pensive staring before Jon finally spoke.  
“My people… won’t accept a southern ruler,” he said, slowly, his accent lingering on every word. He looked contrite. “Not after everything they’ve suffered.” Daenerys took two steps closer to him and he backed away half a pace and looked at her, trying to determine how she would respond.

“They will if their king does,” she replied simply, trying not to wince at how soft her voice had become. She had not intended to go softly on the so-called King in the North. Yet here they were. They now stood so closely together that Dany could speak in little more than a whisper now. “They chose you to lead them. They chose you to protect them.” She paused, her voice hardening as she realised Jon had looked down. 'Is that the kind of influence I will let him have on me? Pull yourself together'. “Isn’t their survival more important than your pride?”

It was a few seconds, but when Jon Snow finally looked back to her, it was a mix of horror and fear that crossed his face, as though she had said something truly disturbing. Dany couldn’t help but feel startled. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped, and looked away again. He twitched uncomfortably and stepped back again. 'Perhaps I just made a really good point'.

“What is it?”

“N-nothing…” Their eyes met again. His expression reminded her of when Ser Davos had tried to sing his praises, back in the throne room. A knife in the heart for his people… Daenerys turned her gaze back to the carving in the wall, of the alleged White Walkers. The icy blueness of the eyes did make her feel a tad unsettled.

It took a minute for the King in the North to regain his composure.  
“Sorry,” he said gruffly, taking the fire torch. “It’s just… I said those exact words to another, once. They didn’t listen. They’re dead, now.”  
“I’m sorry,” Daenerys replied. She fiddled restlessly with her hands, wracking her brains to think of something diplomatic and meaningful to say in response, all while pondering why this man had the power to make her feel the way she did. Luckily, an interruption came in the form of quick footsteps. Jon took another step backwards and Missandei hurried into view.

“Your Grace,” she breathed, looking from Daenerys to Jon. “Lord Snow.”

“Are you alright?” Dany asked her. “What has happened?”

“Lord Tyrion and Lord Varys have come down to the beach, Your Grace,” the young advisor explained. “I think they need to speak with you.”

Daenerys nodded, motioning to Missandei to walk beside her as they began to make their way out of the cave. Another set of footsteps was enough to know that Jon Snow was following them. She felt cold, despite the fire from the torch. The drawing of the White Walkers, and those blue, blue eyes… made her shiver, though she would never admit to it. She knew she’d never forget it. And she wouldn’t forget how solemn and sad Jon looked while they spoke.

They walked together in steady, companionable silence until they had left the inner cavern and re-joined Ser Davos, who had been watching some of Jon’s men hammering away at the glittering obsidian. The metallic scent of cold steel and the dust hung heavy in the air and Daenerys resisted the urge to cough violently. Instead, she glanced over at Jon who had moved slightly to her right. He had been brooding, entirely consumed in his own sombre thoughts. Now, he gave his older Hand a rueful smile and a slight shake of the head. Dany’s stomach jolted. 'He had been counting on it' she realised. 'That’s why he came here. Not to bend the knee. He wanted to be allies and fight together, without having to surrender his crown'. She thought for a moment about what he had said. Why wouldn’t the Northerners accept her? It’s dreary in the North, Tyrion had told her – but what did he know, really? 'If only Ser Jorah was here' Daenerys thought gloomily. He was a northerner. He may even have known some of the people Jon spoke of. She frowned. But then again, what would Jorah think of Jon? With that, she looked up at the so-called king.

“Your Grace?” he said hesitantly, his dark eyes questioning. An amused half-smirk played about his lips. “Shall we go?”

It was then that Dany realised that all three of them were staring at her. I must have been brooding as intensely as Jon does she thought, pulling herself together.  
“Yes,” she replied, a little more sharply than she had intended. “The dragonglass is yours to mine. For now, let’s leave.”

She walked straight towards the cave exit. Jon came to walk beside her, still holding the burning torch. Missandei and Davos followed behind them, exchanging mundane pleasantries. Dany was glad to see them getting along well. 'If Jon had bent the knee, this would be turning out even better' she thought bitterly, deliberately resisting the strong and strange urge to stare at the northern king beside her.

The small group walked out of the cave, all blinking desperately as the darkness of the mine gave way to the bright light of day. Daenerys opened her eyes to see Tyrion and Varys waiting for them as Missandei had said. Both men looked grave and apprehensive as Jon put the torch into the moist sand to douse the flame.

“What is it?” she asked, failing to keep the hint of dread out of her voice.

“…We took Casterly Rock,” Tyrion told her after a couple of seconds.

“That’s very good to hear,” she replied warmly, encouraging them to continue. Then she noticed the look exchanged between them. “…Isn’t it?” she faltered.

Varys nodded to Tyrion to continue.  
“The Unsullied would have found taking the Rock an easier task than we had first imagined, it seems. Most of the Lannister forces were too busy storming Highgarden. And as for our fleet… and Lady Olenna…”

Seconds later, Daenerys began to storm away across the beach; Tyrion, Varys and Missandei hot on her heels with Jon and Davos not far behind.  
“If you want to discuss this amongst yourselves –” began Ser Davos.

“You will stay.” Daenerys commanded. She was so angry that she didn’t remember that the man didn’t actually take orders from her. She continued. “All my allies are gone. They’ve been taken from me while I’ve been sitting here on this island!”

Dany and Tyrion then proceeded to argue about armies and strategy.  
“Your strategy has lost us Dorne, the Iron Islands and the Reach!” she shouted in frustration, before insulting her Hand further, insinuating that he wanted to help Cersei rather than overthrow her. 

Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal all screeched in unison overhead. Part of her wanted to take her children straight to the Red Keep, to end this war and get it over with. She said as much. Daenerys then turned around slightly to see Jon and Davos still stood slightly apart from the rest of the group. She noticed how uncomfortable Jon looked and slowly began to realise how loud and tyrannical she must have looked.

Positioning herself just enough to look the northern king straight in the eyes, Daenerys then asked Jon, “What do you think I should do?”

Jon Snow shifted uncomfortably under her calm, yet enraged gaze. Dany suppressed a sigh; the words had been out of her mouth before she could even think about it, and the look on his face told her she wouldn’t get the answer she was hoping for.  
“I would never presume to –”

She cut him off. “I’m at war. I’m losing.” She took several slow paces towards him, ignoring the curious looks from Varys and Missandei. “What do you think I should do?”

Jon began to talk about the people who followed her, and then about her idea to use the dragons in Kings Landing, and her idea to make the world a better place.  
“But if you use them, to melt castles and burn cities, you’re not different. You’re just more of the same.”

Daenerys continued to stare at him. She had to admit his words had merit. But she had not expected him to say all that. 'You’re going to listen to him, a man who you may one day have to fight, and not Tyrion, your loyal and trustworthy Hand?' a voice in her head rang. Dany ignored it, all while trying to figure out what to say next. Luckily for her, again, someone else spoke instead.

“Your Grace, my lords, excuse me,” Missandei piped up. “But, what is that over there?”

“That there is a ship, Your Grace, and it’s on its way here,” Ser Davos responded before anyone else could. Dany’s brow furrowed. She didn’t know a lot about the Onion Knight at all, but she had heard he was a skilled sailor.

“Well, it’s not ours,” Jon said after a few moments of silence, trying to break the tension.

“Perhaps one of the Greyjoys survived after all!” Daenerys said, failing to not sound too excited. 'Yara or Theon? Yara or Theon? Yara or Theon?'

“No such joy, Your Grace,” Davos replied after a few more seconds. “Red and gold, with a lion on the sail. A Lannister ship, of all things.”

Dany wheeled around to face Tyrion in alarm, and she saw he had visibly paled under his beard.  
“A Lannister ship…” Tyrion said quietly. He looked up to meet her lilac gaze. “My sister.”


	2. Chapter 2 - Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net!
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES this is just a story.
> 
> What if Arya had gone to Kings Landing and killed Cersei? How would that have impacted the Dragonstone storyline of season 7? Story starts just around the end of the cave scene in episode 4. Season 7 spoilers, eventual Jonerys. All reviews welcome!

When he was resurrected, when he fought at Winterfell, when he was named King in the North… if anyone had asked Jon what he saw himself doing with his power, his current situation would have been the last thing he suggested. Away from the snowy terrain that was home; trying to negotiate a southern queen to face a common enemy. And he certainly didn’t expect himself to begin to feel the way he did about her.

But how could he not? Daenerys was so strong, so brave, so beautiful, with her cloudy silver hair and iridescent purple-blue irises. Her little smiles, and even her sharp tongue; every inch a queen…

He was with her now, safely locked in the council chamber, accompanied by Missandei, Davos and Varys. Two Dothraki stood guard outside. Jon glanced at his companions. Varys wore his normal affected expression. Davos looked neutral. Missandei stood, looking out of the cavern like room towards the sea, no doubt keeping an eye out for more ships. And the queen… she just stood in the centre of the quiet chaos, hands poised over the map table and trembling slightly, while she looked puzzled and slightly fearful, although her voice was still strong when she spoke.

“Why aren’t there more ships?” Daenerys mused. “Cersei must know that she is outnumbered.”

“Perhaps she just wants to treat with you, Your Grace,” Jon replied respectfully, looking at her and moving a couple of paces closer. “A truce, maybe?”

“I highly doubt that, Lord Snow,” Varys interjected, heavily and patronising. “I really do think this is a trap, or a trick of some sort of description.”

“Thank you for the optimism,” Davos mumbled.

“I hope that Lord Tyrion will be alright,” Missandei murmured uncertainly from the other side.

Tyrion had stayed on the beach, flanked by several of the Dothraki, while Daenerys had been rushed up to the castle for safety. Jon had offered to stay there with him – and he knew Davos would have been good with his sailor’s expertise. But Daenerys had asked, no, commanded him to stay with her.

“It would be good if our Queen had a skilled swordsman with her in the castle,” Tyrion had supported her argument. “Just in case.” And just like that, Longclaw had been returned to him. 'Daenerys trusts me now' Jon realised. 'I’m not sure why. But she does all the same'.

“If Cersei wants to parlay with me, why did she come here so freely, and without sending word first?” the dragon queen said now. “This has to be a trick of some kind. Perhaps Euron Greyjoy’s fleet is surrounding Dragonstone as we speak, just far enough away to not be seen!”

“Let’s not assume anything, Your Grace,” Davos said gently, in an effort to calm her down. “One ship at a time, one problem at a time.”

“With your permission, I will go and find Tyrion, and try to get some information for you, my Queen,” Varys offered.

“Very well,” Daenerys said. “Be safe.” He left.

“I want my dragons,” she said a few seconds later, startling Jon and the others. “Like I said before, I want to try and find Euron’s fleet – and sink it.”

“Your Grace, please stay,” Missandei spoke up, urging her. “Lord Varys will come back with Lord Tyrion soon; we can discuss the next course of action then. Please, Your Grace. I just want you to be safe.” Jon watched Daenerys stare at her friend for a lengthy moment, before glancing away, defeated. It was silence after that; Missandei intently watching out of the cavern, Davos wringing his hands. Daenerys paced up and down. Jon stood still, near the door, listening for the light clutter of footsteps, one hand gently resting on the wolfish pommel of his sword.

Footsteps came just moments later. Jon drew Longclaw. He noticed Daenerys giving him a small, grateful smile, but he could see the fear in her slightly widened eyes. 'Friend or foe?' he wondered. 'Or rather, the queen’s friend or foe?' Missandei crossed the room to stand by Daenerys; Davos too moved closer as the sound of movement grew louder.  
The door opened… to reveal Tyrion, with another, far leaner, man – perhaps a couple of years younger than Jon himself. His eyes were trailed on the floor.

“And?” Daenerys said at once, slightly irritable with nerves.

“Cersei is here. She has been taken to a chamber and is being guarded by a dozen of the Dothraki for as long as you see fit. I know you would probably prefer her in the dungeons, but… regardless of what else, she is still highborn and I noticed she was really struggling to walk. The guards that accompanied her… half dead, the rest imprisoned in the dungeons. I found this lad at the back –” Tyrion broke off and gestured to his companion. “No weapons, but he claims to be friends with my sister. I felt he would be the safest person to question.” The queen’s Hand said all this rather fast, and Jon wondered how he really felt, having to imprison his own sister, regardless of the circumstances. He paused, then continued. “Varys is prepared to go and question her. With your permission, I would go too – I think he may need the backup.”

“No.” The queen regained her usual, commanding composure. “I will be the first of us to talk to Cersei Lannister. I want you and Lord Varys to ensure that her ship is dealt with, then I want the pair of you to investigate. Find out if we are under a naval siege. Meanwhile –” she broke off and gestured to the young lad – “I will keep the boy here and question him.” Tyrion gave her a long, searching look, before nodding and leaving without another word. Jon carefully put Longclaw back in its scabbard.

“Come forward, my lord,” Daenerys said to the young man. “Into the light, where I can see you.” The boy seemed confused, looking around, yet keeping his eyes cast down. He moved hesitantly as he was told to.

“I’m no lord,” he murmured simply.

“What is your name?” the queen asked him harshly, ignoring his previous statement. The boy looked up at her with blue, blue eyes and an expression that was somewhere between confusion and terror.

“It’s –”

“Gendry?”

Davos had been quiet up until now, but upon seeing the boy in front of him he had rushed forward in alarm.

The young man looked back at him. “Ser Davos?”

“Gendry, what in seven hells are you doing back here?” Gendry looked between the older man and the queen several times fearfully.

“You know him?”

“What do you mean, back here?”

Daenerys and Jon had spoken at the same time, with neither seeming to notice. All eyes were on Davos.

“Perhaps we should all sit down?” Missandei suggested. Daenerys nodded wordlessly in response and all of them took seats at the map table, Davos pulling out a seat for Gendry too.

“Gendry,” Daenerys began again, slightly gentler in tone this time. “Please tell me, firstly, how you know Ser Davos.”

“I was travelling with the Brotherhood Without Banners, with a… friend,” he broke off and glanced nervously at Jon, which Jon thought was pretty strange. “I wanted to stay with them, while my friend wanted to move on. But before we could part ways, the Brotherhood sold me off, like a slave, to a red witch to be murdered.” His voice turned bitter. “I was brought here, before the witch tricked me and put leeches on me. I was thrown in a dungeon after that. I think Lord Stannis meant to kill me, but Ser Davos rescued me,” he glanced at Jon’s Hand again. “I owe my life to him. He helped me escape, gave me a boat to get back to Kings Landing. I never saw the red witch again.” Gendry looked up then, and the fear was back. “Wait… she’s not here too, is she?”

“No.” Davos was quick to reassure him. “The Red Priestess is not present. The only magical things you have to worry about here are the dragons.”

“So you went back to Kings Landing,” Daenerys continued. “Then what? How did you come to be such a close friend of Cersei Lannister?”

“It’s a very long story,” he said slowly. “I think she would probably be able to tell it better. But I went back to the Street of Steel. I grew up there, and I was a smith’s apprentice before I left the capital the first time. And then, the next thing I know, I’m on a boat back here, the last place I want to be.” His eyes blazed. “I realise it doesn’t look good. If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with. I don’t know any of the political stuff – I don’t know, uh… Cersei that well; she doesn’t trust me enough to tell me everything.”

“Very well,” the queen replied after a moment, during which she had studied him, trying to detect for lies. “A smith, you say? Perhaps you could make something for me.”

The boy shrugged. “So long as I have the materials.”

“You will,” she said, fixing him with her steely gaze. “For now though, you will be shown to your chamber. You must be too well-acquainted with the dungeons.” She turned and muttered something guttural to the Dothraki standing guard.

“I will go too,” Davos spoke up. He looked at Jon, who nodded, then back at Gendry. “I believe a proper reunion is well-needed.” Daenerys smiled slightly.

“All I know,” Gendry said suddenly, “is that Cersei wants to speak to you alone.” He glanced over his shoulder at Jon. “And Jon Snow, the King in the North – she’ll definitely want to speak to him alone, too.”

“We shall see,” Daenerys said diplomatically, and then Gendry and Davos were gone, leaving Jon with just her and Missandei.

“Your Grace, perhaps I could be of some assistance to Lord Tyrion and Lord Varys,” the translator suggested timidly, as Daenerys made her way towards the other side of the cavern to look out to sea once more. “If they plan to speak with the Dothraki about protecting Dragonstone, I may be able to help them.”

“Alright,” Daenerys replied, as the dragons screeched as they circled overhead. Missandei left quickly and Jon could hear her footsteps getting quieter and quieter with every passing second. The queen sighed beside him, sitting right back in her chair.

“Why?” she murmured quietly, eyes closed. Jon looked over at her.

“What are you going to do about her?” he asked her curiously.

“I don’t know, yet,” Daenerys replied. “I will sit on the Iron Throne, Jon Snow. I will be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. But I want to be respected by the people. I want to be firm and merciful.” She opened her eyes and they bore into him. “Which are you, Jon Snow? Firm or merciful?”

“It’s too early to tell, Your Grace,” he told her honestly. “I have killed men who broke vows, who didn’t follow orders…” he broke off, thinking about the Nights Watch. Ser Alliser, and Olly… For the Watch a voice in his head hissed, making him shiver, and his chest twinge with pain. But then he thought of Ned Umber and Alys Karstark, just green summer children, and the way Sansa wanted to condemn them. “Although, I suppose I showed more mercy to others,” he mused. Daenerys watched him intently, before looking back out to the open sky and the faint outline of wings.

“I don’t want to just give Cersei what she wants, either,” the queen said softly. “A private audience? With both of us? What do you think?”

“I’m not sure what to think,” Jon responded. “I certainly have no wish to speak with the woman responsible for my father’s death, my brother’s, and for hurting and endangering my sisters. But my father once said that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. No doubt Cersei will die before this war is over, at one of our hands. He once said that if you cannot owe it to someone to look in their eyes and hear their final words, perhaps they do not deserve to die.”

“Will you speak to her then?” Daenerys asked after a moment, having taken in every word.

“I don’t know,” Jon sent her an intense gaze. “She wants to speak to you. She wants to speak to me. Neither of us exactly want to give her what she wants, as though she is in charge – she’s not. Why don’t we let Cersei speak to both of us, together, at the same time?”

“That’s a good idea,” Daenerys said, smiling faintly, after a while. “I will not let Tyrion attend, though. I don’t know what it will do to him – or her for that matter.” She stood quickly and shifted her gaze away from Jon. Instead she crossed the room and stared out at the sky, where the three great beasts loomed.

“I still want my dragons,” she said quietly.

“To take the Red Keep?”

“No, not the Red Keep. Cersei may be here, but there are still battles that need to be fought.” She paused. “You would stay at Dragonstone if I left for a day or so, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Jon replied, feeling slightly spooked at why she would say such a thing. “I still have dragonglass to mine.”

“Ah yes, of course,” Daenerys said quietly, though Jon could have sworn he saw her scowl. “Well, I’ll be back soon.”

And she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading. 
> 
> The next chapter will be in Arya's POV.


	3. Chapter 3 - Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net!
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES this is just a story.
> 
> What if Arya had gone to Kings Landing and killed Cersei? How would that have impacted the Dragonstone storyline of season 7? Story starts just around the end of the cave scene in episode 4. Season 7 spoilers, eventual Jonerys. All reviews welcome!

Arya was tired, and everywhere ached. Her head. Her heart. Pretending to be the hated queen Cersei was starting to take its toll.

After she was finished at the Twins, Arya had headed straight to Kings Landing, wearing the face of a simple serving girl. She had been tempted to reuse the disguise she had used at the Twins, but then she remembered Jaime Lannister had been there and she didn’t want to risk him recognising her.

Arya found her task easier than anticipated. It was easy when you were posing as a servant. Within a couple of weeks, she had worked her way up to being one of Cersei’s handmaidens. It was easy. There were not many women, or indeed men, left in the Red Keep in Kings Landing under Cersei’s rule. The men were fighting. The women were scared.  
She had headed out into the city the day before Cersei’s death, disguised as a little orphan girl. It hadn’t taken long to find what she set out for. Within minutes she had reached the Street of Steel, with the sound of clanging metal resonating off the walls. The thick smog from the scorching coals rising into the air, clinging to every building. The odd shout from a master or a lost child. She had gone into every forge, looking for him, getting more fearful with every passing one. Arya had convinced herself that her friend would have escaped from the Red Woman, just like they had escaped from Harrenhal, and she had escaped from the Hound and later from the House of Black and White.

Finally, her patience had been rewarded. She stepped into yet another smithy, with a fire, anvil, wheel, bucket… Several freshly-forged swords lay in unorganised heaps all around. Then she saw him. He had his back to her, but there could only be one person with hair that colour, even if it was shorter.

“Gendry?” she had started hesitantly. He turned around – it was definitely him – with an expression of confusion on his solemn, tired face.

“Sorry…” he replied. “Do I know you?” Arya had silently cursed herself for not removing the face before speaking.

“You used to,” she responded.

He regarded her curiously. “What can I do for you?”

“Help me,” Arya whispered, before turning her head away to get rid of her disguise.

When she had turned back to him, Gendry’s mouth had fallen open in shock.

“Arry?” he eventually uttered disbelievingly.

“Sshh!” she hushed him. “Yes, it’s me. But nobody out there can know who I am, alright?”

“They won’t. Not from me.” He grinned, then gave a short laugh. “I can’t believe it’s really you! I never thought I would see you again. I thought you were dead!”

“I thought you were too,” Arya replied matter-of-factly. “But I thought I’d better check first.” She made sure the coast was clear, before stepping forward. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You’re my only friend in Kings Landing. I need your help.”

Gendry had regarded her for a few seconds. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

They sat together on the floor behind the anvil. And she had told him everything.

Arya Stark had thought long and hard about how she would kill Cersei Lannister: one of the first people on her list, second only to the monster that was Joffrey. Part of her had wanted to behead her, like she had conspired to do to her father. But Needle was far too skinny for that, despite her proficiency in wielding the blade. It also occurred to her that perhaps Cersei did not deserve such a quick and relatively painless death. Perhaps it would be better for her to suffer, just like Arya had over the years. Eventually, she decided to use the same method as she had on Walder Frey. Minus the pie, of course. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were all dead, and even if they were not, Arya knew the latter two were innocent, and they had been nice to her all those years ago at Winterfell and then Kings Landing. Arya wasn’t sure she would have wanted to kill them too.

The day after she reacquainted herself with Gendry, she did it. She had got him to prepare a ship at the docks, and to then get ready to help her rally some Lannister guards to accompany her once she had taken Cersei’s face. He had been willing to oblige. He told her he had found out who his father was: he was Robert Baratheon’s bastard, and that the Lannisters had helped to kill him, as well as murder all of his many brothers and sisters. He wanted some justice and vengeance, just like she did, so his loyalty to the task at hand had come freely.

She decided they would go to Dragonstone: Arya had heard that Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, had set herself up there to plan her conquest of Westeros. She was the rightful queen, after all – and Arya hoped she would be just as good as the warrior Visenya that she had grown up hearing stories about. She had heard from Qyburn that Daenerys was said to own three real dragons too…

At nightfall, Arya reapplied her handmaiden disguise and entered the Red Keep. She found her way to Cersei within minutes; she remembered her way around the castle extremely well, which had proven helpful over the recent weeks. Once she had entered and locked the door, she wasted no time in striding over to the queen and pulling out the new dagger Gendry had made her the day before.

“Gillarya, go and get me –” The command died in her throat when she saw the dagger.

“I suppose I should really be more honest with you, Your Grace,” Arya started smoothly, but spat out the title. “My name is not Gillarya.” She held the blade out with one hand and removed the face with the other. “It’s just Arya. Arya Stark.”

“Arya Stark died a long time ago,” Cersei said, choking out a mirthless laugh.

“Perhaps,” Arya had scowled. “I prefer the term changed. But you’re going to die now. Arya Stark is not the girl she was last time she was here. But she is still very much alive. I want you to know that. The last thing you’re ever going to see is a Stark of Winterfell smiling down at you as you die.”

“But my child,” Cersei replied numbly, putting a hand on her stomach.

“I heard you talking to Qyburn,” Arya scoffed. “There is no child. You couldn’t find another way to ensure your brother’s loyalty.”

“What an honourable Stark of Winterfell you are,” Cersei commented spitefully. “Listening at doors, and killing an unarmed woman in her chamber. How very like your father you are.”

Arya took another step closer. “My father always said that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. I will try my hardest to live by those words for as long as I live. Our way is the old way.” She took a final step and rested the cool metal blade against the back of Cersei’s head, so as not to damage her face. She would be needing that, she knew. “And I, Arya of House Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell and Warden of the North, do sentence you to die.” Without wasting another second, she moved the blade and watched in grim satisfaction as the life slowly drained out of Cersei and she slumped forward over her dressing table.

The rest, as they say, is history. Qyburn, she had had thrown into a black cell as soon as she took Cersei’s likeness. She drove a dagger through the Mountain’s eye while he slept that same night.

Becoming more like Cersei so as not to rouse suspicion had been the most difficult part. Arya had noticed, with some dismay, that the Lannister queen was far taller than she was. Her training in the House of Black and White had taught her that looking the part was important. She went through trunk after trunk after disposing of the old queen’s body, and eventually found some very high-heeled shoes, similar to ones Sansa had worn when they were younger. Arya hated them and only wore them when she had to. She hated Cersei’s wardrobe too, with all the long dresses and ornate decoration. One evening, in disguise, she had made her way to Sansa’s old bedchamber and managed to find an old cloak, similar to what they had all worn in Winterfell all those years ago. She used the cloak to better conceal Needle and her new dagger.

Two days later, she had assembled a few guards and with Gendry’s help, they had begun sailing at once to Dragonstone.

Upon arrival, all the guards, and herself, had been arrested. Arya had expected no less, and was glad, for she had been pondering on how she would get the guards to turn their cloaks and back Daenerys.

But she was bored now. She had been taken to a (rather luxurious) chamber, but she wasn’t allowed to leave. She couldn’t leave, actually – this chamber could be locked from the outside, and it was. Gendry, meanwhile, had been taken before Daenerys and her companions, and Arya began to worry for her friend’s safety, as she paced up and down the cavern like chamber for what felt like the thousandth time.

A rapping on the door brought her out of her reminisces.

“Are you in there?” Gendry’s voice came muffled through the door. “Arya?”

“Gendry, shut up!” she said instantly. “They can’t know, remember! Not yet!”

“It’s only me,” he replied. “One of the Dothraki is standing guard, but he cannot speak any Common Tongue at all. I can’t come in and see you, but I can talk to you for a couple of minutes.”

“You shouldn’t,” Arya responded, pressing her face into the door. “It’ll look suspicious; like you’re informing on Daenerys.” Curiosity overtook her, however. “What’s she like? The Dragon Queen?”

“You’ll probably find out soon enough. I’m going to my own chamber, now. But I had to tell you – Jon is here.”

“Jon?”

“Your bastard brother?”

“Shut up,” Arya said again, sharply. “Jon is Lord Commander of the Nights Watch – why would he be here?”

“I’m telling the truth!” Gendry insisted. “I recognised him! He has the accent, and he looks a bit like you. And like your father, come to that.”

“Get me an audience.” She spoke after a few emotional seconds. “Please.”

“I’ll do my best,” Gendry promised her. “I know Ser Davos, maybe I can ask him.”

“If you don’t, I swear to the Old Gods, the New Gods, and the Many Faced God that I will escape.”

“Then I will try my utmost to do what you ask,” Arya could practically hear him smiling through the door. “Because that really would look suspicious, m’lady.”

“Don’t call me –”

But he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this the longest chapter yet? Maybe.  
> Thank you so much for reading again, all of you. I know half of you seem to love Arya/Gendry and half of you seem to hate it. I want to make all of you happy but I know that’s going to be pretty tricky! The next chapter will be in Daenerys’ POV.


	4. Chapter 4 - Daenerys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net!
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES this is just a story.
> 
> What if Arya had gone to Kings Landing and killed Cersei? How would that have impacted the Dragonstone storyline of season 7? Story starts just around the end of the cave scene in episode 4. Season 7 spoilers, eventual Jonerys. All reviews welcome!

It was late morning when Daenerys arrived back at Dragonstone. The whole Loot Train Attack had passed quicker and less painlessly than Daenerys could have imagined. A couple of hundred had bent the knee. The loss of Dothraki was minimal. The dragon queen considered herself victorious as she soared through the morning sky. Yet there was one thing dragging her down, well, two things to be precise.

Dickon Tarly. And strangely, what Jon Snow would think when he found out what she had done to him.

Daenerys didn’t feel a shred of guilt over Lord Randyll’s fate. He betrayed Olenna Tyrell when she needed the lords of the Reach. Even in the face of defeat, he refused to bend the knee or follow orders. But his son… probably no older than herself, perhaps as stubborn and definitely as loyal. Daenerys sighed. If it had been Ned Stark on that field, she assumed Jon Snow might have done the same thing. Dickon Tarly had survived the battle, which must have proved he had some potential. Dany frowned in guilty uncertainty as she circled around the top of Dragonstone a few times in an attempt to clear her thoughts. Perhaps Tyrion and the Dothraki would have made it back to the ships to come back by now. When her Hand returned, they could discuss the next move. Viserion and Rhaegal screeched around her and Drogon roared back a greeting to his brothers. All would be well. If I look back, I am lost she remembered, and gently urged Drogon to land on one of the clifftops.

It was then that Dany got a surprise. As Drogon hit the ground with an uncomfortable thud, she noticed a lone, heavily cloaked figure standing there, brooding, and looking out to sea. Jon. He turned around quickly upon hearing the approaching dragon, but was able to steady himself, not allowing the impact to send him falling. Daenerys’ heart began to race as Drogon padded closer to the northerner. Don’t hurt him she thought, hastily and strongly connecting with the animal. I can’t make an enemy of the north, and besides, I don’t want him to be hurt anyway! The dragon slowed down but did not stop moving, with the result that his giant snout was in Jon’s face. A strange pressure worked its way into Dany’s chest. He’s a goner she thought numbly, before desperately trying to get Drogon to leave him be. The dragon didn’t respond for a couple of minutes, but when he did, Daenerys looked down to find Jon relatively unharmed, only slightly shaken. She swung her leg over and slid down Drogon’s wing to the floor. The red dragon gave her a long stare as she stepped away, before he took to the skies without another backward glance. Dany walked determinedly towards Jon, who was still watching Drogon and the now the other two with an expression of awe on his solemn, handsome face.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” she smiled as she moved to stand beside him, all while feeling very curious.

“Wasn’t the word I was thinking of,” Jon said wryly as he pulled his glove back on. He noticed the look she gave him. “But yes, they are… Gorgeous beasts.” He gave her a small smile.

“They’re not beasts to me,” she told him, turning to face him and giving him her full attention. “No matter how big they get, how terrifying to everyone else. They’re my children.” Jon nodded respectfully, but still smiled.

“I mean, I love Ghost, but I wouldn’t call him my son.”

“Ghost?”

“My direwolf.”

Dany’s eyes widened. “You have a direwolf?”

“You have three dragons,” he replied levelly. “Not so insurmountable.”

“But you didn’t bring, ah – Ghost to Dragonstone. I wouldn’t have minded, really!”

“I’ve had him since he was a pup,” Jon reminisced. “Me and my brothers found him in the snow near Winterfell, with his brothers and sisters. We all had one. I called him Ghost because he’s white, and because he barely makes a sound. And, as far as I know, he’s the only one left alive.”

“I’m sorry,” Daenerys said softly. Jon shrugged casually, but his eyes were still sad.

“You weren’t gone long,” he commented, moments later in an attempt to change the subject.

“No.” She decided to humour him.

“And?”

And I killed a young man and countless others. Daenerys looked up to meet his gaze. “And I have fewer enemies today than I did yesterday.” She sounded more confident than she felt. “You’re not sure how you feel about that…”

“No, I’m not,” he said honestly, but the look he gave her was soft.

They walked together a few paces. “How many men did your army kill taking Winterfell back from the Boltons?”

He scowled. “Thousands.”

“We both want to help people,” she replied. “But we can only help them from a position of strength. Sometimes strength is terrible.”

“Aye,” he responded, and looked at her, as though with a newfound level of respect. “I meant what I said, when we first met. You are better than Cersei.”

She smiled at him and her heart soared. “Well, considering Cersei is currently imprisoned here in my castle, that’s not really much of a compliment, Jon Snow,” she laughed, and he grinned too. “And you still won’t bend the knee!” She tutted.

Jon frowned, even though he could tell she was teasing him. “Not yet, Your Grace.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Not yet?”

He sighed. “I never wanted to be King. I never wanted to be Lord Commander of the Nights Watch. But both positions were forced on me. The North named me their King, so I am working with that position as well as I can, with winter upon us. If I bend the knee to you now, not only will many of the northern lords desert me – which would be disastrous in the war to come – but it might be for nothing if I get killed fighting the Night King. Then the North would choose themselves a new King or Queen – probably my sister, actually – and you would be right back at square one.”

Daenerys was quiet for a few minutes as she thought about what Jon had just said. She didn’t not want to think about the possibility of him dying – she didn’t want to consider it. She knew she needed to say something meaningful, but she couldn’t find the words.  
“I don’t want you to die,” she blurted out after a while.

He smiled at her again. “I don’t want to die either, trust me.”

“I will help you,” she told him softly. “The Iron Throne may be closer to me now, if we do the right thing with Cersei. Then I can march my forces north to help you.”

He looked at her again, and they stopped walking. “We?”

Dany blushed and said nothing for a few minutes. How could he make her feel this way?

“When you first came here,” she began again, sort of changing the subject again, “Ser Davos said you took a knife in the heart for your people.”

“Ser Davos gets carried away,” he said, giving her a half-smile.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “So it was a figure of speech?”

He shuffled uncomfortably, breaking eye contact. “Well…”

After hearing nothing else, Daenerys turned around to see what Jon was looking at. A group of Dothraki were approaching with another man. The first two moved aside to reveal… Ser Jorah – smiling at her in the morning sun, his cloak blowing uncontrollably in the wind.

“This man says he is your friend, Khaleesi,” one of the Dothraki said in his native language.

“He is my friend,” she replied happily, stepping forward to get a better look at the knight.

“You look strong!” she said enthusiastically, as the Dothraki began to move away. “You found a cure?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t,” he replied. “I return to your service, my queen. If you’ll have me.”

“It would be my honour,” she said. She was so overwhelmed and happy that she stepped forward and embraced him. She grinned. 'Who else would go to the ends of the earth to cure greyscale for me?'

“Ser Jorah, this is Jon Snow. Jon Snow, this is Ser Jorah Mormont. Might I suggest that we go inside to talk? It is very windy out here.” Jorah nodded and they began to walk. “Jon Snow, you will join us?” It was a question, but he was right behind her already. Daenerys smiled.

The three of them went to Daenerys’ solar, thinking the space smaller and less daunting than either the throne room or the council chamber. Dany sat at one end, meaning Jon and Jorah would sit opposite each other.

“Jon Snow,” the older knight broke the silence first. “Ned Stark’s son?”

“Aye,” Jon replied calmly. “Jorah Mormont. I served with your father at Castle Black. He was a good man.”

“He deserved a better son,” Jorah said sadly.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself!” Daenerys interjected indignantly, all while curious to hear about the old Lord Commander who was always spoken so highly of.

“It’s true,” Jorah shrugged, then looked straight at Jon. “Were you with him at the end?”

“I was a prisoner of the wildlings,” Jon said quietly. Daenerys frowned – another interesting story for Jon to tell her one day. Right after what his Hand had really meant when he said he took a knife in the heart.

“I couldn’t imagine a worse way for him to go. The Nights Watch was his life. He would have died to protect any one of those men…”

“My father was the most honourable man I ever met,” Jon mused. Dany frowned again: Eddard Stark had been one of the Usurper’s dogs – there was no honour in that, but Jon had that sad, dreamy look in his eyes again. “Yet he died on the executioner’s block. I hate that he died that way, and the same goes for Lord Commander Mormont.” He broke off for long enough to look at Jorah. “But we avenged him. I want you to know – that every mutineer found justice.”

“That’s good to hear,” the old knight replied sincerely, then turned his undivided attention over to Daenerys. “How are you, Khaleesi? I see you made it to Dragonstone safely…”

“Yes, thank you Ser Jorah, I am very well,” Dany replied, smiling, so delighted to see the friend who she had long thought dead. “But tell me about you. You say you found the cure. When? How? Where? What happened to you?”

Jorah smiled.

“A cure for what?” Jon asked.

“Greyscale,” the knight responded.

Jon Snow raised his eyebrows, impressed. “I’ve only met one person to survive that.”

Daenerys looked to the northerner curiously. “Who?”

“Stannis Baratheon’s daughter, Shireen. Had it as an infant, I believe. Cured, but disfigured, poor child.”

“You met her too?” Jorah countered. “So did the man who had cured me. Said he met her at Castle Black.”

“Where did you go?” Daenerys asked him, but watched as Jon frowned as though puzzled.

“To the Citadel, in Oldtown,” he replied. “I thought that if anyone knew the cure, it would be the Maesters.”

Dany was about to ask, delicately, what it was like – but Jon Snow gasped and distracted her.

“At the Citadel,” he started in a rush, looking, for the first time since he had been at Dragonstone, genuinely excited, “the man who told you about Shireen Baratheon’s affliction, who saw her at Castle Black – was it –”

“Samwell Tarly!” the two men said together.

Daenerys looked stricken. Another Tarly! But… He must be different she thought, feeling desperately guilty again. He helped Jorah, and the Gods know Jon wouldn’t look so excited if he wasn’t a close friend…

“You know him?” all three of them said together. Jon laughed at the at their synchronisation, but Dany began to feel sick.

“He cured my greyscale, after being expressly forbidden to,” Jorah said admiringly. “Risked his position to save my life with a banned procedure. He’s a good man.”

“I know!” Jon replied excitedly. “He’s a sworn brother of the Nights Watch. He’s been my best friend ever since he arrived at the Wall. I sent him to Oldtown to train up as our new Maester while I was still Lord Commander. He’s the smartest man I know, and the most genuine.”

Daenerys felt like she had been punched in the stomach. If I look back, I am lost. If I look back, I am lost. If I look back… but her own thoughts were interrupted by tears springing to her eyes and a strong urge to scream and run away. Jon and Jorah continued to talk about this man, Sam: Jorah laughed over how he had nervously warned him not to scream before he took off the layer of stony disease, while Jon reminisced over some of the funny things he used to say while on duty.

Before Dany could wish for the floor to open up and swallow her, one of the Dothraki entered the solar. The dragon queen stood up and listened to him.

“A chamber has been prepared for you, Ser Jorah,” Daenerys told him.

“That sounds great,” the knight said, rising as well. “If you wouldn’t mind, Khaleesi… it has been a long journey.”

“Of course, my friend,” the queen replied, smiling through her tears. “I’ll speak with you later.”

Jorah left with the Dothraki, leaving her alone with the northern king. Again. Not that she minded, of course.

Jon Snow stood up too, and for a moment Daenerys was afraid he was going to give an excuse to leave as well. But instead he approached her, slowly.

“Your Grace,” he said softly. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she replied, trying to make herself sound as confident and casual as possible. If I look back, I am lost. Jon took another two steps towards her; they now stood just a couple of feet apart.

“It’s not nothing,” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him, but there was no mistaking the gruff northern accent. “I know it’s not. Something’s upset you…” He reached out almost hesitantly and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Just know that you can tell me, Your Grace – and I would gladly listen.”

She looked up at him as a tear dropped down her cheek. He put out a thumb and gently wiped it away.

“You don’t want to know,” she whispered. “You don’t.” She shut her eyes in the hope that the tears would go away. Jon stayed close, and Daenerys could feel his eyes on her. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to. 'But what would he do when he found out I killed his best friend’s father and brother?' She opened her eyes to see him nod, as though he respected her wishes.

They stared at each other for a full minute.

“Maybe if you tell me why Ser Davos claims you took a knife in the heart for your people, I’ll tell you why I’m so upset.”

“Fine,” Jon said levelly, though he looked a little uncomfortable again. Dany took another small step forward; they were nearly touching now. She didn’t want to cry now. She was curious.

But before Jon could start to speak, they were interrupted – yet again. This time, it was Missandei who ran into the solar as if her life depended on it. Daenerys broke eye contact with Jon and stepped back three paces.

“Missan –”

“Cersei Lannister has escaped from her chamber, Your Grace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! Had to end it there – it was just asking for it! Sorry!
> 
> Thanks again so, so, so much for reading! 
> 
> I know this chapter didn’t have any Arya or Gendry in it but I really wanted to do some more Jonerys and also reintroduce Jorah to the story. As you might guess, Arya/Cersei will be a prominent character next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5 - Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net!
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES this is just a story.
> 
> What if Arya had gone to Kings Landing and killed Cersei? How would that have impacted the Dragonstone storyline of season 7? Story starts just around the end of the cave scene in episode 4. Season 7 spoilers, eventual Jonerys. All reviews welcome!

Arya ran. It was so much easier without the horrible shoes. She had taken Cersei’s face off – only for the time being – and had donned the face of a simpleton boy. It was a lot easier to move and Arya was so far undetected. She sighed. Word had probably gotten to Daenerys by now that Cersei Lannister had escaped her chamber…

It hadn’t been difficult. Arya had simply used a hairpin to pick at the lock of an adjoining chamber to the one she had, changed her face, removed and stored her shoes in one of the many deep pockets of the cloak and left. The Dothraki hadn’t paid her a second glance, assuming her to be a random servant.

Arya slowed to a walk halfway down the hundreds of steps to the beach, and tried to relax. I have another part to play now she told herself. She decided she would go back later (and of course pretend like nothing had happened), but for now she wanted fresh air and to be free.

The first alarum came when she spotted Tyrion Lannister moving towards her, heading the other way. Arya almost froze, before she remembered that she wasn’t Cersei anymore. Instead, she nodded to the dwarf rather brashly as she carried on down the steps.

“Boy,” the little man said suddenly. Arya turned around.

“Yes, my lord?” She winced, remembering the lesson Tywin had taught her all those years ago. Low born girls say ‘milord’, not ‘my lord’.

“You haven’t seen anything strange lately, have you? Nobody running around?”

“No, milord,” she replied impassively.

The dwarf nodded seriously. “Go on.” He turned and hurried back up the steps. Arya continued down them.

She didn’t know where she would go. It had been a whole day since Gendry had visited her. He had insisted, yet again, that Jon was there at Dragonstone as well. Arya had a hard time believing him. Part of her wanted to find evidence for his appearance – maybe even to see him. She knew she would not truly reveal herself until after she had spoken with Daenerys and explained herself. Arya struggled to believe the rumours she had heard were true. Jon – King in the North? He was meant to be at the Wall! It wasn’t like Jon to break vows. Gendry had told her he spent a lot of time in the dragonglass caves. Maybe that was why he was at Dragonstone – to ask permission. Arya wondered why Jon would need dragonglass, and she wondered if he would be there in the cave now. It was only afternoon, after all.

She found it easily enough, and was able to sneak into the back of the cave, undetected by the miners. Many of them had northern accents, but Arya did not recognise any of them from her childhood at Winterfell. She felt a jolt in her stomach when she realised that most of the people she remembered were probably dead. But I’m not she thought, pulling herself together. And neither is Jon. For Gendry had been correct: once Arya had got into the dragonglass cave, the direwolf sigil of the Starks was everywhere.

Arya wandered towards the back of the cave. It was warm back there, so she peeled off her disguise in order to breathe better. It was there that she was able to appreciate the sheer beauty of the cavern, the glittering and slightly iridescent obsidian. It almost held a certain magic to it. Arya looked around, to see strange carvings in one wall of the shimmering glass. She stepped forward, as silent as a snake, and had a closer look. The first picture depicted some figure-like beings, above what looked like knights. The Children of the Forest and the First Men, fighting together Arya remembered suddenly. Just like Old Nan’s stories… She looked around and saw the other carving. And this was what they fought against. These figures were thinner, almost skeletal, with skinny weapons and unnervingly blue eyes. The White Walkers. Arya shivered. 'Were they real? Was this dragonglass what Jon needed at the Wall, to fight them again?'

Then she realised. That was why Daenerys needed to sit on the Iron Throne. Jon must have been here a little while; maybe they were allies. Arya thought, as soon as Daenerys Targaryen was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, perhaps she would make everyone march north to fight them. And Arya certainly didn’t want to miss out on that. Maybe I need to become Cersei again she thought. I’ll get spotted and then maybe, maybe I’ll get to talk to her. And Jon… Without a second thought, Arya slipped the heeled shoes back on, loosened her cloak a little to conceal Needle and swapped her face to that of the hated Lannister queen.

As if on cue, footsteps came. Arya steadied her breathing, and turned to face the dragonglass. Whoever it was would have to speak first.

“Your Grace?” The voice was quiet, disdainful, yet strangely respectful. And the northern accent hung on each word. Arya turned, stomach flipping, to find herself face to face with Jon Snow himself. He had grown a little taller in the years since Arya had last seen him, and his dark curls were pulled back. He wore a long cloak, similar to hers. He looked just as solemn and serious as before, and he had a long scar near one eye. His dark eyes, always soft around her, were hard and unforgiving as he looked at who he thought was Cersei.

“Jon!” the word, spoken softly and with some longing, had escaped her mouth before she realised. Her half-brother looked at her with some surprise. 'Stay in character, you idiot.'

“Lord Snow,” she amended, doing her best to make her voice sound cold. She just managed a Cersei-like smirk. “It’s been some time.”

“I last saw you at Winterfell, Your Grace,” Jon replied coolly. “The same day my brother fell from the tower.” Inwardly, Arya seethed. She had wondered a few times over the years if Cersei had been in some way responsible for Bran’s condition. She silently cursed herself for not asking her before she killed her.

“…I remember it well,” she faltered after a few seconds, though she managed to keep her voice strong.

Jon looked her in the eyes with a cold expression and shuffled his feet. “You realise I need to take you back up to the castle, don’t you?”

“Will I get to see Daenerys Targaryen?” she asked, trying very hard not to sound excited.

“It’s likely,” Jon replied levelly, as he motioned for them to leave the cave. “She will want to know how and why you escaped. And why you came to Dragonstone at all. To be honest with you, I am curious to find out these things too.”

“Why did you come to Dragonstone?” Arya asked as they walked. “Last I heard, you were at the Wall with Unc- your Uncle Benjen.”

“I suppose you’ll end up finding out soon enough,” Jon replied with a suppressed sigh. Arya felt slightly alarmed. Had she misjudged Daenerys Targaryen? She knew she was the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and everything she had heard so far seemed good. But had she forced Jon to do something he didn’t want? Why was he here? Arya’s mind buzzed with nervous questions.

“There was one thing I wanted to ask you, Your Grace,” Jon’s voice broke her out of her musing.

Arya raised her eyebrows, trying to appear uninterested. “What?”

“When my father became Hand of the King to Robert Baratheon,” – Arya’s stomach flipped – “both of my sisters went to Kings Landing with him.”

“So they did,” Arya almost squeaked. Now they had reached the end of the beach and were starting to climb the steps to the castle. Arya’s feet hurt with every step and she occasionally had to clutch at the wall to stop herself falling over.

“I know what happened to Sansa,” Jon said quietly. “But what matters is that she’s home safe now, and I won’t let anyone hurt her again. But Arya… I don’t know what happened to her.” He broke off and stared at her. “What happened to my little sister?”

“Arya…” She broke off uncomfortably, unsure what to say and pausing for a moment. “She escaped the Red Keep when her father was arrested. Nobody knows where she went or what she did. Most people think she’s dead. But she’s not.”

Jon looked at her, with a mixture of hopefulness and distrustfulness. “How do you know?”

Arya smirked, though she felt bad. “I suppose you’ll end up finding out soon enough.” She didn’t look back at Jon.

The smirk was wiped from her face very quickly. They turned a corner to find several Dothraki approaching them, arakhs poised and ready.

“They will escort us to Daenerys, I assume,” Jon said quietly, not looking at her. Arya nodded wordlessly, not wanting to show she was afraid. She had heard of the Dothraki while she had been training in Braavos, and had admired their alleged skill on horseback and talent with weapons. 'Maybe if I had come as Arya, and done it that way, I could have asked this Daenerys if I could train with them' she thought. But it was too late now.

They moved in silence towards what Arya assumed was a throne room. The Dothraki would occasionally grunt something at each other in their own language. She glanced at Jon. He looked very uncomfortable.

“Are you and Daenerys… allies?”

“Wouldn’t be the word I was thinking of,” Jon replied thoughtfully. “But I suppose so. Friends, I think.” Arya nodded. She didn’t expect Jon to say anything to the person he thought was Cersei, but of course he wouldn’t lie. He was like Ned Stark come again. But she noticed the way her half-brother’s dark eyes sparkled when he spoke. He likes her Arya realised. Not that he’ll ever admit it.

The throne room had a cool and unforgiving aura to it, as did its occupants. As soon as they entered, Jon moved halfway up the steps and stood to one side, nearby a younger woman who Arya assumed was one of Daenerys’ advisors. Arya noticed the dragon queen give Jon a small smile, which made her even more curious as to what their actual relationship was. To Arya’s relief, Tyrion Lannister was not there. Maybe he could not stomach the sight of his sister. Maybe he still cared a little and was hidden away, painfully preparing for Cersei’s ‘death’. Arya did not know. She had spent as little time around Cersei Lannister as possible when she had been in Kings Landing before, and she did not really know much about the relationship between the old queen and the dwarf. Tyrion’s absence made things a lot easier as far as Arya was concerned.

Arya looked up at the Mother of Dragons. Wavy silver hair flowed almost to her waist and her lavender eyes sent a chilling glare her way. She was slight, slim, yet the most powerful in the room. She was beautiful, and it was easy to see why Jon liked her.

Daenerys regarded her coldly. “Thank you for travelling so far,” she said, breaking the tense silence. Arya shrugged in response, which was difficult, since the cloak was so heavy. It was very warm at Dragonstone, even warmer than Kings Landing. Maybe it was the magical presence of real dragons that warmed the place.

“Where’s Tyrion?” Arya responded, realising that nobody had said anything for several seconds.

“Not here, as is plain to see,” Daenerys said. “I did not think he would particularly want to be here. He’s told me all about you, and I never got the impression you got along very well.”

Arya nodded, then very gently wiped Cersei’s forehead. Not that it did any good. Arya was sweating under the disguise and the heavy furs of the cloak.

“You care about him?” she asked. “You trust him?”

Daenerys regarded her with an expression of surprise. “He is my Hand.”

Arya looked at Jon. “What about him? Do you trust him?”

“Yes, I do, actually,” Daenerys countered after a moment of thoughtfulness. Jon looked pleasantly surprised. “He is honest. Stubborn, perhaps, but honest.” Arya nodded, before huffing with the heat.

“Why don’t you just remove your cloak, Lady Cersei?” the young advisor standing by Daenerys suggested, sensing her discomfort. With all eyes upon her, Arya had no choice but to comply. Luckily she had borrowed a few of Sansa’s old dresses from the wardrobe too. But she still looked very different with the sword and dagger at her belt.

“Very clever,” Daenerys remarked, noticing them. “Concealing your weapons under a cloak. I’ll need you to give those over in a minute.”

“What am I going to do?” Arya asked indignantly. “If I harm you, anyone will come in and kill me.”

“How did you escape?”

“How did you get that sword?”

Jon and Daenerys had spoken at the same time. The queen looked to him, confused, while he hadn’t seemed to notice that she had said something too.

'Crap!' Arya thought.

Jon took a couple of hesitant steps forward. “I know that sword. It’s Mikken’s work. From Winterfell…” he broke off to look at Daenerys and then back at her. “I gave this sword to Arya before she left for Kings Landing, and I left for the Wall.” Despite his clear rage, he smiled softly a little at the memory. “She called it Needle. How did you come to get it?”

“It’s a long story,” Arya said. She had come to a conclusion that it was time for her to reveal herself, she just needed the time.

“I suppose it would be foolish to ask if you plan to bend the knee,” Daenerys commented.

“Not at all,” Arya replied. “I will. In time. And if Jon does.”

Her brother once again looked uncomfortable. “I –”

“How did you escape?” Daenerys cut across. “Did you bribe one of the guards?”

Arya shook her head. “I don’t have any money on me, making that a bit tricky. Though it did cross my mind. But I notice how loyal the Dothraki are to you, so it wouldn’t have worked anyway.”

Daenerys laughed bitterly. “A Lannister with no gold in their pocket. Forgive me, but I don’t believe you.”

“Gold’s worth nothing to dead people.”

“Meaning what?”

Arya slowly knelt. “I admit that you are the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms and all the titles that go along with it.” She was concise, as she truthfully did not remember all the titles that Robert Baratheon had had. “The Iron Throne is yours… just be nice to Jon,” she faltered, then bowed her head to remove her disguise.

She rose up slowly, to meet alarmed and confused gazes from everyone else in the room.

“Cersei?” Daenerys gasped quietly.

“No,” Jon said, his voice echoing off the walls. He looked thoroughly shell-shocked. “Arya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this was the hardest chapter to write so far.   
> I’m also aware that this chapter probably sucks, so I apologise for that too.  
> I’ll do my utmost to get the next chapter – probably in Jon’s POV – out as soon as I can. In the meantime, please review because your words do mean a lot! How do you think Jon will react to Arya? Will he be pleased to see her, or disappointed in who she has become? What will Daenerys think?


	6. Chapter 6 - Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES.

“Arya?” He regarded her with deep shock, concern and a tinge of fear. “But… Cersei… what?” He looked from the girl in front of him up to Daenerys and Missandei. The queen’s advisor looked as serene as ever, apart from widened eyes. The queen herself looked confused, but otherwise unfazed. Instead, Daenerys slowly rose from her rock-carved throne and moved a few paces forward.

“Cersei is dead.” It wasn’t a question. Arya nodded. Daenerys turned back to Jon, who was rooted to the spot, with a small smirk. “You never told me your little sister joined the Faceless Men!”

Jon gaped at Arya. “You did what?”

Arya meanwhile, looked to the dragon queen with a newfound respect. “How could you tell?”

“You literally just removed a face, just like they do,” she broke off for a minute. “Are you still with them?”

“No.” Arya looked curious.

“I lived in Braavos for a short time when I was younger, Arya,” Daenerys told her. “I don’t remember much about it. Me and my brother were hiding from the Usurper’s hired knives. All I remember was that we lived in a nice house with a red door, and there was a lemon tree outside my window. And the Faceless Men.”

“Did they ever say anything, or do anything to you?” Arya asked.

“Never. I was always so confused by them. Sometimes I would see one walking around outside. Anyone who saw him would run away in fear. But they never harmed me, or anyone I knew.” The queen took another couple of steps forward so that she was in line with Jon. “I know very little about the real Arya Stark, only that you were your brother’s favourite. Lord Varys once told me that you fled Kings Landing around the time that your father was imprisoned.”

“I didn’t leave then,” Arya replied. “Lord Varys, the Spider – he’s here?” Arya’s real face now held an expression of disgust.

“He serves me, now,” Daenerys explained to her. “Now tell me. What happened? How did you survive with no one knowing where you were for so long? How did you come to kill Cersei Lannister so quickly and quietly?” She paused and looked sideways at Jon. “I’m sure your brother will want to know too.” She smiled. “When he finds his voice.”

But Jon was now grinning. Yes, there was something sinister about the fierce little wolf. But there was no denying it was her. The grey eyes, the very unladylike demeanour. And she kept Needle!

In two quick strides, Jon stood in front of her. Unlike all those years ago, Arya dropped her sword straight away, as well as kicking off a pair of what looked like heeled shoes, for what Jon could only assume was for her disguise, before leaping into his arms for the first time since he had said farewell before leaving for the Wall.

When he finally put her down, Arya had tears gleaming in her eyes.

“I missed you,” Arya said quietly. “I tried to come to the Wall ages ago, but I couldn’t.”

“I missed you too,” Jon replied, still slightly in shock, but elated all the same. “I thought you were dead. Rickon is dead, Bran is for all I know, we know what happened to Robb and your mother. I thought it was only Sansa and me left.” Jon looked behind him at Daenerys, who looked bemused as she watched the little reunion. “Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” the queen replied softly. “But we all need to chat. Perhaps we should take this somewhere else?” Jon nodded and he led Arya to the Chamber of the Painted Table, which was conveniently just next door.

“I’m thrilled that you kept Needle,” Jon told her, smiling as the three of them sat down. “I thought Father or Septa Mordane would have confiscated it at the first opportunity. I figure you’ve learnt to use it pretty well…”

“I learnt many things in many places,” Arya replied evasively. “But you’re right. Maybe we can spar sometime.”

Jon nodded, before looking more serious. “What happened to you?” he asked her gently, leaning forward to muss up her hair like he did when she was little. “How did you get here?”

“It’s a long story,” his little sister responded quietly, looking from him to Daenerys, and back again. “I imagine yours is too.”

“Yes,” Jon countered heavily. “And not a particularly pleasant one.”

“Nor mine,” Daenerys said.

“Mine neither,” Arya said. She paused, looking between the two of them again. “But, our stories are not over yet.”

“This must seem like a strange question,” Daenerys pushed hesitantly after a little while, “but Cersei is dead, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Arya replied, and Jon saw a slight macabre gleam in her eye. “As I said, the Iron Throne is yours.” Daenerys looked at her in surprise.

“You would just give it to me,” she said quietly, looking at Arya in disbelief. “The thing I have wanted since I was old enough to want anything. The thing I have fought for all these years…” she trailed off and Jon saw tears in her violet eyes. “You would just give it to me, without finding out anything about me? What I’m like? Without making sure I was a better candidate?”

Arya shrugged in response. “I don’t really care who sits on that chair made of swords. So long as it’s not Cersei. Myrcella and Tommen are both dead, that’s probably why she took the Iron Throne in the first place. So long as the king or queen there is someone who won’t hurt us, or the North. Someone who will help us when we need it. You’re the right person for the job, as far as I’m concerned. And Jon must trust you, and you him, or else he wouldn’t have been there with you when you met with the person you thought was Cersei Lannister.” Arya broke off for a minute to glance at Jon, before focusing all of her attention on the Dragon Queen again, and speaking with a softer, yet eerier voice. “And I trust Jon, more than anyone. He’s the most honourable person, after Father. You’re the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms, yes, but I swear to you, if you hurt Jon, my face will be the last you’ll ever see.”

“Arya,” Jon said quietly, shaking his head and resisting the urge to smile. “Your loyalty means a lot, but you can’t just name and then threaten Queen Daenerys in the same breath.”

His little sister shrugged again.

“Luckily for all of us I have no intention of hurting your brother,” Daenerys said, smiling softly at Arya, who nodded in satisfaction, before sitting back in her chair. The room was quiet for a moment, Jon presumed as Daenerys processed the rest of what Arya had just said to her. His little sister, meanwhile, looked back at him with an expression of soft admiration.

“Is it true that you’re King in the North?” she asked him.

“I was named so, after we retook Winterfell from the Boltons,” Jon replied, frowning slightly. He did not really want to go into the details just yet, especially not with Daenerys there who still wanted him to submit to her. Probably even more so now that she is actually queen he realised.

“So yes, then,” Arya countered. “How did that happen? You’re in the Nights Watch.”

“Not anymore. It’s a long story…” He broke off and smirked as he threw her words back at her.

Arya raised her eyebrows challengingly. “I’ll tell if you do.”

“Maybe another time.” He felt uncomfortable again as all the attention was on him.

Arya shrugged, unfazed. “How’s Ghost?”

“Alright,” Jon replied, before adopting a softer tone again. “Sansa told me about Lady and Nymeria, and what happened on the Kingsroad. I’m sorry.” He glanced at Daenerys. “My sisters’ wolves,” he added by way of explanation.

“It looks like you’ll be needing more suitable accommodation, my lady,” Daenerys said, changing the subject as the room when quiet again, after a long glance at Jon’s solemn face.

“Don’t worry about it,” Arya replied. “A chamber’s a chamber. It’d be nice not having a load of guards right outside though.” She paused. “And please don’t call me a lady.”

Daenerys smiled. “Alright.” She paused as well. “Is there anything you want to know from me?” she asked the little Stark girl, which seemed to surprise her as much as it did Jon.

“Can I train with the Dothraki sometime?” Arya asked. “I’ve never used an arakh before. Or fought on horseback. Also, where’s Gendry?”

“…Of course, I can arrange for it,” Daenerys said, after a quick glance at Jon. Almost as if she’s asking for my permission Jon thought. But why? She’s in charge here. And in any case, I could never refuse Arya anything. Especially after so long…

“Gendry is likely to be with Ser Davos,” the queen continued. “Somewhere in the castle, most likely.”

“Ser Davos is my Hand,” Jon added, as Arya looked confused.

“I could find someone to take you to them, if you want,” Daenerys offered. “I’ll need to meet with my council soon and tell them about Cersei’s death. You might well be needed, and you are of course welcome to join us, but I will delay such a meeting for as long as I can.”

“I think I can find my way, thanks,” Arya responded politely. She stood up and managed a very wobbly and stiff curtsey. “It’s so great to be here, Your Grace.”

“It’s good to see you,” Daenerys replied.

Arya went over to hug Jon tightly, before leaving without another word.

Jon couldn’t believe his luck. Arya alive. He had thought more about her than any of his other half-siblings during his time at the Wall, and had worried day and night about her, especially after their father’s death. He had long assumed, with much regret, that the fierce little girl was dead too. But no. His stomach turned as he realised she really wasn’t the same little girl anymore. She had killed Cersei Lannister, and pretended to be her and had them fooled for quite an impressive amount of time. There was far more to Arya Stark than met the eye now, and Jon was determined to find out everything, even if he had to tell her everything that had happened to him in the process, for a fair exchange.

Jon was broken out of his musing suddenly, and in a way he never thought would happen. A soon as Arya’s footsteps had faded away, Daenerys had burst into tears. Jon was alarmed. He had never seen the dragon queen like this before. She was always so regal, so focused, and so very rarely gave anything away. Yet here she was. Before Jon could even think, he had crossed the room in four strides and pulled his arms around her in a gentle embrace. Daenerys leaned into him, arms slowly wrapping around his neck, pushing her tear-stained face into his shoulder as she cried. No words were spoken for a few minutes; Jon just rubbed gentle circles into her back and looked on in concern.

Daenerys pulled away first, eyes red-rimmed.

“I’m sorry,” she started, her voice scratchy from crying.

“Don’t be,” Jon replied quietly. He led her over to the other side of the room and sat by the ledge of the cavern like room, facing out to sea. Daenerys sat next to him. They were quiet for a minute. Jon didn’t say anything. He just wanted her to know that he was there, ready and willing to listen to whatever she wanted to let him in on.

“I feel like all I’ve done around you lately is cry,” she said quietly, flushing.

“I don’t mind,” Jon told her, putting an arm around her shoulder. “I am honoured that you are comfortable around me enough to show your true emotions.”

“I just can’t believe this is actually happening,” she said. “So quickly, and with barely any conflict. Here I am, ready for battle with dragons and Unsullied and Dothraki, and yet there’s nothing to do now for the throne other than get to the capital and walk up the steps.” She paused, and looked up at him with those iridescent purple eyes. “I’m actually going to be the Queen of Westeros. I can’t believe it.”

“You deserve it.”

She regarded him seriously. “Do I? So far all I’ve done for this country is destroy several food wagons, that would have been valuable in the winter, killed a few innocent soldiers and terrified people.”

“And how much more do you think Cersei would have done, to keep herself on the Iron Throne?” Jon asked her. “She would easily have destroyed the entirety of Westeros if she could have been queen of the ashes. She was desperate for power, but didn’t care about the responsibilities that came along with it, nor the consequences of her actions. You do. I’ve seen it. So don’t ever doubt yourself.”

They sat there for a few minutes, looking out over the sea. The waft of salty air and the coastal breeze was pleasant, but cold.

“I was never going to be queen of the ashes,” Daenerys said quietly. “I know what my father did. I know the Mad King earned his name and I know he had an obsession with fire, especially as a weapon. Sometimes I fear I am like him. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if he had three dragons.”

“You’re not like him,” Jon told her with sincerity.

“Thank you.”

“And you do have three dragons.”

“Dragons that seem to like you.”

“They must be mad.”

And Daenerys laughed, genuinely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for reading! This chapter came a lot easier, thankfully. Please leave a review and tell me what you think. I wanted to make Daenerys an important part of this chapter: obviously Jon likes her by this point and I kind of want to build on a friendship between her and Arya. I wanted Jon to be both excited to see Arya and also slightly unnerved by what she has done. Let me know if you think I got this right or not!
> 
> In my original draft, I did only plan for there to be six chapters, centralised around Arya revealing herself. This has been done now, but I realise that I could easily go on to write more Jonerys and (not so much but possibly) Gendrya, as well as Daenerys ruling Westeros and eventually the Long Night. Tell me in a review if you want me to continue and I will.  
> Thanks again for reading, let me know what you think


	7. Chapter 7 - Daenerys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES
> 
> This chapter continues directly from the end of the last one.

She laughed, a genuine, mirthful one – before once again resuming a serious countenance.

“It must be strange for you too,” she commented softly. “Seeing your sister again, after all this time.”

“Aye,” Jon sighed. “And a faceless assassin pretending to be Cersei Lannister, no less. Not exactly how I imagined our reunion would go.”

“How do you feel about that?” Daenerys asked him carefully, wholly unsure from his facial expression.

“I’m not sure,” Jon said, looking at her. She could see he was conflicted. “It is wonderful to see her again, truly. Growing up, at Winterfell – she was my favourite, even more so than Robb, I think. I always felt like an outcast, the northern bastard, but Arya always felt different too.” He smiled slightly as he reminisced, but then looked more solemn. “But I can see that she’s changed so much since I last saw her. She’s turned a happy-go-lucky, fierce spirit into something murderous.”

“She had to grow up quickly,” Daenerys said gently, taking his hand in an effort to console the storm the plagued in his eyes. “We all did. I imagine you’ve changed a fair bit since your sister last saw you. And I know I am certainly not the same girl who fled to Pentos all those years ago.”

“That is indeed true…” Jon conceded, smiling at her fondly. Or at least, what Dany hoped was fondness. “Perhaps I just need to talk to Arya, properly – get to know her again.”

“A good idea,” Dany told him warmly. She half expected him to get up and walk out, and prepared herself for it. But he didn’t. Instead, he caressed the back of her hand with his thumb and leaned a few centimetres closer.

“Are you sure there is nothing else troubling you, Your Grace?” Jon enquired gently.

“Daenerys,” she interjected, tilting her head to look him in the eyes.

Jon smiled. “Are you sure you’re alright, Daenerys?”

“I just have a lot on my mind,” she responded calmly, looking back out to sea. She knew she could trust Jon. He would listen to her, even if he hated what he heard. Dany considered telling him everything, from the day she had been sold off to Khal Drogo, to the day she arrived back on the shores of Westeros. She wanted to ask him things too – how he had been treated at Winterfell as a child, how he managed to become Lord Commander, what Davos meant when he said he took a knife in the heart, amongst many other things. But they were sitting there, overlooking the sea, just the two of them in companionship – and it was nice. Being able to take a break from being Queen, a break from being the strong and stoic Mother of Dragons; to just be able to stare at the waves as they rolled into the beach from above, watching the sun begin to set and just be.

“Aye,” Jon said despondently. 

Daenerys looked at him closely. 'He is disappointed that I am not telling him anything' she realised. 'He thinks I do not trust him'. This, in turn, upset Dany. She felt a strange, yet deep connection with this broody, handsome northerner. She had thought harbouring feelings like this would never happen again, as though they were beyond her capability. But this feeling was happening, and that frightened Dany. Jon still hadn’t bent the knee or pledged the north to fight for her, should she need it – yet the Iron Throne was hers for the taking. Daenerys knew, deep down, that she wouldn’t be able to deal with Jon the way she would with any other lords who did not submit to her. She couldn’t even use her dragons against him – even Drogon, the largest and fiercest of her children – seemed to like him for reasons Dany simply couldn’t comprehend. 'Dragons are thought to be smarter than men' she remembered Tyrion telling her once. 'They feel hatred for their enemies, and compassion for their friends'. They clearly saw Jon as friend rather than foe.

“How is the dragonglass mining coming along?” she asked, sticking to a neutral topic then after what felt like necessity.

“It’s coming along well,” Jon replied, resuming the professional countenance. “I’ve already sent two shipments north to White Harbour, that will then get transported to Winterfell.” He broke off and gave her a sweet smile. “There’s so much of it; it’s great. And it’s one of the only substances that can kill the White Walkers and their foot-soldiers.”

“What else can?” Daenerys still wasn’t one hundred percent sure she believed the severity of the threat. She could believe the undead army existed; dragons did, and so did direwolves – meaning the things’ existence couldn’t really be so impossible – but she wouldn’t – couldn’t believe that the threat was so serious.

“Valyrian steel,” he offered, indicating the blade at his belt. “Though a rarity. The only other thing we’ve found is fire, to kill the wights. Although setting things alight is often difficult, north of the Wall.”

Dany reflected on this for a minute.

“It must be so cold, north of the Wall,” she countered. She could vaguely remember her experience in the House of the Undying. But the only thing she could connect it with was the brightness of the snow. Not the cold. It had only been a vision, after all.

“It is,” Jon smiled again. “Freezing. Down here, it’s roasting hot by comparison.”

“This is the coldest I’ve ever been,” Dany laughed. “In Essos, it is so much warmer. I expect you’d hate it there.”

“I probably would,” Jon grinned back.

Daenerys smiled, glad that the awkward sadness had passed.

“Dragonstone isn’t all bad though, is it?” she asked innocently.

“Of course not,” Jon replied. “The beach and all the fresh sea air is very pleasant, the dragonglass caves are lovely, it’s nice to see Lord Tyrion again…” he broke off, grinning as Daenerys gave him a light, playful punch to the arm. “Oh and I suppose, it is great to make the acquaintance of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.”

“Thank you,” Dany mocked him.

Before Daenerys could think of another way to keep the banter going, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” she said, giving Jon’s hand a gentle squeeze before letting go and standing up.

Ser Davos entered.

“Sorry,” he said, noticing how close they still stood together. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not,” Jon told his Hand. “Are you alright?”

“Forget about me, are you alright?” the older man looked from Jon to Dany and back again. “Both of yer?”

“We’re fine,” Jon replied.

Davos still seemed to be flustered. “I just thought, with Cersei potentially still on the loose, I thought I would find you in the throne room. Any news on that front?”

“Cersei Lannister is dead,” Daenerys told him, trying hard to keep the vehemence out of her voice.

“Since when?” the Onion Knight asked of Jon, looking very taken aback.

“Since, assumedly, a while ago,” Jon sighed in response. “It’s a long story.” Dany’s heart gave a lurch; he had been reminded once again of the prodigality of his sister.

“I will hold a council meeting tomorrow to talk about what has happened,” Daenerys told him, before looking back to the curly-haired northerner next to her. “I would like you both to be in attendance. But for now, I am tired and I have much to think about.”

Davos nodded. “I will go tell everyone what you just told me. I believe Ser Jorah and a few of the Dothraki are still out searching for Cersei. They’ve even started lighting torches to improve visibility out there. And as for that boy Gendry, well, he’s got company…” he left. Dany exchanged a look with Jon and laughed.

“I wonder how Arya and Gendry know each other,” he mused. “He definitely isn’t a northerner.”

“Perhaps they met when she escaped Kings Landing,” Daenerys suggested. She stifled a yawn. “I am so tired…”

“Me too,” Jon said. “And I know I’m going to need to be well-rested to take on tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Dany said softly. He looked at her in surprise. “For being here. For being so… nice. And for not judging me.”

“You haven’t given me any need to judge you, Daenerys,” he replied. She looked into his eyes and they still held that soft look in them. Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around his neck again and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, smiling as he gently hugged her back.

She pulled away after a few seconds and just stared at him. 'Stop it' she told herself. 'Stop acting like the lovesick fool, which you aren’t, and shouldn’t be'.

“Goodnight, Jon,” she said softly.

He smiled. “Goodnight, Daenerys,” he replied.

The next morning, Dany awoke to weak sunlight and Missandei gently tapping on her wrist.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” the translator said, her voice as serious as ever. “Ser Davos told us yesterday about Cersei…”

“At the council meeting,” Daenerys told her. “It is a long story, my friend.”

Daenerys dressed quickly and left her hair down, save for a couple of looped braids at the back. It was only as she descended to a lower floor of the castle that she heard the faint sound of clanging steel. She hurried outside. Dany knew she was in no danger – the Dothraki bloodriders would run to her if she was – but she was keen to see who was fighting who. That smith, Gendry, against Jon, or even Jorah against Jon.

What she was not expecting to see was Jon sparring with his younger sister. Daenerys frowned as she watched. Arya’s sword strokes were fluid and quick, and it was plain to see that Jon was not going easy on her. The younger Stark girl’s movements were better suited to a dancefloor than a battlefield as she almost glided across the space. During one particular whirl-around, she gave Daenerys an acknowledging smile, which the Dragon Queen returned, before deftly blocking another of Jon’s attacks.

Dany tore her eyes away from the spectacle in front of her for long enough to see Gendry watching the pair too, with an expression of awe on his face.

“Quite something to see, isn’t it?” she said conversationally to him.

The young smith nodded nervously. “I knew she was good. Better than good. She told me what happened after… but I didn’t know she was this good.”

Dany looked back. Arya was laughing… still full of energy. It took a few seconds for Daenerys to notice that the small girl was barely watching what her older brother was doing. Jon was visibly struggling now.

“Perhaps it is time we all broke fast,” she suggested, loud enough for them to hear. Arya stepped backwards and sheathed her little blade at once, as though she had been expecting Dany to intervene. Jon took a few more seconds, and when he had caught his breath, he looked to his sister with a mixture of fear and admiration of his handsome face.

“Who taught you to fight like that?” he panted, as the pair moved towards Dany.

Arya gave a little half-smirk. “No one.”

Daenerys suppressed a sigh. What was it with these Starks, being so vague? She turned and started off back towards the castle, the two siblings trailing after her at a slower pace.

“But that was… amazing!” Jon was clearly still in shock.

Arya shrugged in response. “I told you that if we sparred, I’d kick your ass. I would’ve been right. Good thing for you that your new girlfriend decided to stop you before you got hurt.”

Dany’s face felt warm. 'Thank goodness they are behind me'.

“Arya?” Jon started.

“Yes?”

“Shut up!”

It was Arya’s mischievous laugh that had Daenerys blush fully as she made her way up the steps. 'This is going to be a strange day'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!   
> Hopefully this chapter had all my Jonerys readers excited – I am trying to give them a slow burn but Jonerys will be a thing eventually!  
> Please review – I am always open to advice and ideas on how to continue.


	8. Chapter 8 - Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES

It was so much easier being Arya Stark than it was Cersei Lannister. It was also arguably more powerful. Daenerys, while wary, seemed to like her. Jon, while shocked, was overjoyed that she was alive. The Dothraki seemed tense around her, and it was fantastic to have Gendry back again.

Arya’s time with the Faceless Men had taught her to be distrustful of people in general, but so far, everyone seemed to be relatively simple in motive. The Dothraki and the few Unsullied soldiers she had seen around Dragonstone were devoted to Daenerys. Arya had been suspicious of the Mother of Dragons’ motives at first, but she seemed to have Westeros’ best interests at heart, and Arya knew she had done the right thing by killing Cersei. She had also been frugal as to the extent of Daenerys and Jon’s relationship. But it was easy to see that they got along fine; in fact, Arya suspected that they secretly loved each other – even if neither of them knew themselves yet. This was another thing she had learnt in Braavos: to be vigilant of human emotions. Anyway, she knew she would have fun teasing Jon about it over the coming weeks.

Arya wasn’t particularly looking forward to the meeting she knew would be held today. Daenerys had told her she wouldn’t be needed straight away, and that she would be sent for if and when she was required. Arya knew she would be though. She killed Cersei, and she had set plans in motion that she hadn’t discussed with anyone else yet.

For now, though, she just wanted to let loose and enjoy being at Dragonstone. Gendry was here. Jon was here. Before too long, Arya hoped she could continue north to Winterfell, but before then…

Sparring with Jon had been the first real fun Arya had had in a long time. He was so much better now than Arya remembered from her childhood days at Winterfell. He was always good, but rarely won when put against Robb or Theon. But the many years he had spent on the Wall had turned him into a warrior, and a good one. Arya felt fairly confident that her half-brother’s combined skill and stamina was better than that of the Hound’s. It was purely her different, Braavosi style of skill that would’ve have had Arya victorious, she was certain. She knew he must have some mad story that had him go from a young recruit of the Nights Watch to King in the North. She wanted to know it, and while she felt Jon would disapprove of some of the things she had done over the years, she wanted him to know her story too. But that would be for another time, Arya knew. He, Daenerys, and all the other important people at Dragonstone had the council meeting now.

She wandered around the island, feeling slightly restless. Arya wasn’t looking forward to having to attend the meeting herself, and face the likes of Tyrion, while everyone else looked on in awe or fear. She also didn’t particularly want all of Daenerys’ advisors knowing how she worked. What if she had to use one of her faces against them in the future? Who knew how things were going to turn out?

Arya was also saddened to realise that Jon hadn’t brought Ghost with him. After seeing the grey insignia of House Stark, she had hoped her brother had brought his white, red-eyed wolf with him. She still missed Nymeria despite the time that had passed since they had parted.

After a while, Arya found herself in the dragonglass caves again. She smiled as she was once again reminded that it was better to be Arya Stark, and the memory of being reunited with Jon here. She followed the cave through to the back. There were a couple of miners still hacking away at the obsidian, but they didn’t notice Arya, small that she was. Arya once again stared in unsettled awe at the cave paintings, depicting the last Long Night and the living’s struggles with the dead. It was here that she was hit by a pang of realisation. Dragonglass kills White Walkers. That’s why it’s shown here. That’s probably why Jon’s here. Almost as if on cue, footsteps came, and her half-brother arrived beside her.

“How did I know I would find you here?” Jon said with a smile in his voice. “You seem to like the dragonglass, don’t you?”

Arya smiled back but her voice came out as flat and calm as a Faceless Man’s. “Dragonglass kills White Walkers, doesn’t it?” she said, turning back to the ominous wall painting.

Jon looked pained in response. “Yes, it does. One of the very few substances that does. That’s the main reason why I came here. I found out there was an abundance of dragonglass underneath the castle at Dragonstone. We need it, in the North – to forge into weapons so that we’re ready when the army of the dead march south.”

“And you hoped that Daenerys would offer to help,” Arya replied rhetorically. “You hoped she would send the Dothraki and the Unsullied and anyone else she could rally north, and bring her dragons to help fight for Westeros.”

“Something like that.”

“But she didn’t?” Arya turned back to face him.

He looked defeated. “No. She’ll only help us if I bend the knee.”

Arya glowered. “Why can’t she just let you remain King in the North?” she asked. “It’s not like you’re going to take up arms against her. You wouldn’t do that, and besides, you’re friends.”

“The thing is, I would do it,” Jon told her. “But the northern lords would never agree to submit to a southern ruler. They would all desert me, go home, and I’d have even fewer fighting men for the Long Night.”

“Not if they lose their heads first,” Arya replied fiercely.

“I worry about you,” Jon said, smiling gently and shaking his head. “But for now… you’re needed at the meeting. Just to say exactly what happened – the events from your perspective.”

“Will Tyrion be there? Cersei’s brother?”

“Yes,” Jon countered. “But don’t worry. There was no love lost between the two of them. In fact, I have a feeling Tyrion might be more annoyed that you beat him to it.”

“Fair enough,” Arya said, feeling slightly comforted but also confused. Family had been everything to Arya; she had done so much in order to avenge them and try to get back to them. She and her sister, Sansa, had never been remarkably close when they were younger, but she could never imagine wanting to kill her.

She dwelled on this all the way to the castle. Jon must have thought she was nervous, for he kept reassuring her.

“Nobody is angry with you, little sister,” he said many times throughout their walk. To which she had nodded, not knowing what else to say.

The Dragonstone council chamber, big as it was, seemed all too empty to Arya upon arriving. The vast space suddenly felt daunting, though it did not scare her. 'Fear cuts deeper than swords' she reminded herself for the dozenth time since arriving. Daenerys stood at one end, and Jon went to stand at the other, closest to where the map shaped table had Winterfell engraved into it. Tyrion regarded her with an expression of curiosity. The Dragon Queen’s young advisor was there too, a younger woman who’s name Arya had found out was Missandei. Ser Davos, the man who apparently was Jon’s Hand, was there. Another older man was there too. She did not know his name, but he was hovering, Arya thought, ridiculously close to Daenerys. As if she would try anything here, even if she wanted to. A couple of Dothraki were there too – but that was all. Just the nine of them. Arya had expected more.

“La- Arya,” Daenerys started, a twinkle in her eye as she dropped the formal title. “I thank you for joining us.” Arya went to shrug, but then decided a smile would probably be more appropriate. Daenerys was queen now, after all. “We just had some questions for you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Alright,” Arya said calmly, though not really feeling it.

“If you wouldn’t mind me asking, my lady,” Missandei spoke up very clearly, “but how did you get into the Red Keep in the first place? Isn’t it heavily guarded?”

“No more or less than expected,” Arya replied, shrugging in a very non-committal manner. “But I found it easy enough to surpass. In the correct disguise, nobody looks at you twice.” It was difficult not to smirk in satisfaction at the looks on everyone’s faces. Arya deliberately avoided looking at Jon, not wishing to see his disappointed and apprehensive stare.

“How did you manage to kill Cersei?” Daenerys asked, delicately looking from her to Tyrion and back again. “How did you get to her… whichever disguise you had?”

“Worked my way up as a servant, learning anything I could,” Arya told them. “Only took a few weeks. Cersei was so arrogant that she didn’t even suspect that any of her household would turn against her. That was her downfall, really, being totally fine with being in a room with me on her own.” She could tell that Daenerys wanted her to elaborate further, but she was determined to be as vague as possible. She was never going to just spill the finer secrets of her newfound craft in front of all these people she did not know and definitely did not trust. But despite this, she did force herself to look into the eyes of Tyrion Lannister. “I apologise,” she said stiffly, the phrase sounding foreign on her tongue. “She was your sister, after all.”

Tyrion did not really acknowledge the apology, just looking down to the table for a few seconds, before looking back up to her. “Did you get Qyburn?”

“Yes,” she answered. “He was even easier. And the Mountain, while he slept.”

“The Mountain? I thought he was dead!” The imp’s eyes were vehement.

“Sadly not,” Arya shrugged. “He is now, though.” Tyrion muttered some obscenities under his breath; Arya heard but she was sure it was probably down to her enhanced hearing skills she had acquired whilst blind. “But what happened to you? How did you escape Kings Landing? Nobody has seen hide nor hair of Arya Stark since Lord Eddard’s imprisonment, or so I was told. Did you have these disguises back then, too?”

“No,” Arya answered. “Barely anyone recognised me as daughter of the Hand anyway. I didn’t spend much time with anyone, not even Sansa…” she broke off and looked down. “I saw… I saw my father’s execution. And then I left Kings Landing.”

“Was that when you met the lad, Gendry?” Ser Davos enquired.

“Yes,” Arya said slowly. Gendry must surely trust this man, and Jon too. Maybe Arya could grow to trust this older man as well. “He was leaving the city with a bunch of new recruits for the Wall. Long story short, I ended up joining them…” she paused long enough to smile at her half-brother, who looked stunned. “I told you I tried to find you.”

Silence reigned in the council room for a few seconds.

“Was there anything else?” Arya asked hesitantly, torn between being polite and wanting to get away. She was starting to get uncomfortable with all of the questions. Perhaps if it was just Jon and Daenerys it would have been alright.

“One last thing,” Tyrion Lannister interjected, looking up at her. “What of my brother, Jaime?” Then, quickly, as if he was reading her mind as Arya’s face began to contort: “I know what he has done. And I think I know plenty else. I only wish to know if he is dead or alive.”

“We saw him at Blackwater Rush –” Daenerys began to say.

“That was then. This is now.” He never broke eye contact with Arya, imploring her to continue.

“He’s alive,” Arya told him. “Probably, unless anything happened to him on the road back to Kings Landing. But before I came here, I left instructions that he was to be imprisoned. That’s all. Ser Jaime hurt my father, and killed Jory. He killed Queen Daenerys’ father. Winter has come for House Lannister, I’m afraid.”

“Well said,” Daenerys said – and even Jon gave her a little smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I feel like this chapter isn’t one of my stronger ones.   
> The next one I have planned is in Jon’s POV and will be slightly more show canon (at least in the beginning).  
> Also, please don’t forget to review! They help and motivate me, as well as give me ideas.


	9. Chapter 9 - Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES

Before anyone could say anything else, a Dothraki man entered holding a scroll of parchment, which he instantly handed to Daenerys with a guttural “Khaleesi,” before leaving again. Everyone’s eyes narrowed in curiosity as the queen turned it over.

“This has the sigil of Winterfell on it,” she said after a second or two. She held it out for Jon with a smile. “It must be for you.” Jon’s interest peaked as he took the rolled up message from home. Indeed, it was the direwolf of House Stark that was stamped into the grey wax.

“Sansa,” Jon said, smiling slightly as he picked apart the seal. In his peripheral vision, he could see that Arya’s eyebrows had risen so high she had lines across her forehead. Without a second thought, he unrolled the new message and bent his head to read.

“…Jon?” It was Arya who hesitantly broke the silence a few seconds later. Jon barely heard her, his eyes swimming with tears.

“Maybe everyone needs to leave,” Daenerys suggested firmly. There were protests, particularly from Tyrion and Jorah, but a chilling glare from both the queen and Arya later, they left without another word. Unbeknownst to Jon, Arya had been about to leave too, but stopped as Daenerys had silently indicated for her to stay.

“What’s wrong?” Daenerys asked gently, as Arya began to pace around the chamber.

Jon looked up then, just enough for the two of them to see the watery smile plastered across his face. “Bran’s alive!”

Arya gave a happy gasp and rushed beside him to read the letter. Jon mussed up her hair and let out a sound, halfway between a sob and a laugh.

“There are three Starks left!” Jon exclaimed as he embraced his little half-sister.

Arya glared at him. “Four.”

“I’m not a –”

“Shut up.” Arya threw her arms around him and when the hug ended, she was tearful too.

“I thought, so many times, that I would never see any of you again,” she said breathily. “When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. And soon our whole pack will be together again!” She agilely inched around him in a single movement and read the carefully-written letter from home again. She frowned. “It gets worse, though,” she said expressionlessly. “The army of the dead are marching towards Eastwatch…”

Jon looked up as Daenerys gasped.

“I was trying to focus on the positives for a minute, little sister,” Jon said croakily, before going back to his usual, desperately brooding expression. “But yes, the inevitable is true.”

“They wouldn’t be able to get past the Wall though, would they?” Arya mused, tracing her finger against the parchment. “I wonder how Bran knows that…”

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” Jon said, beginning to compose himself. “We’ll have to reply soon; Sansa will be just as happy to find out you’re alive.”

Arya shrugged non-committedly.

“Sansa’s changed,” Jon told her seriously. “She’s not the same little girl you used to argue all the time with when we were growing up at Winterfell. She’s been through a lot, as have we all. You would hardly know her for the same person, now, just as the same goes for you.” Arya looked away and nodded.

“Can… I write the reply?” she asked awkwardly after a minute. “My writing’s not very good. Septa Mordane used to crack my knuckles ‘cause I couldn’t write as well as Sansa. But I know my letters, and I’d like to try. For her.”

“Of course,” Jon said. It was the easiest question he had had to answer, perhaps since the last time he saw her. He handed her Sansa’s letter. “I’ll check it for you, if you like, before we send the raven. All the resources are in my room, and you probably know your way around here as well as I do, now.” He smiled. “You don’t have to go and write it now, though.”

“No, I don’t,” Arya agreed, but she had a determined glint in her eye. “But I will.” She stepped back a little and managed another very stiff curtsey to the two of them. “If you hear any howls of anguish, don’t fear. It’ll be me, blotting my parchment.” She stepped towards the door, but then looked back one more time. “I do need to speak to you, privately, at some point, Jon.” She left, and Jon was surprised that he couldn’t even hear her footsteps as she walked away.

“Perhaps you should go with her?” Daenerys suggested. “She’s your sister…”

“Arya’s always been independent,” Jon replied. In truth, he didn’t really know what was keeping him there. “She’ll be alright for a few minutes.” He clasped and unclasped his hands. “My little brother is alive!”

“I am happy for you,” Daenerys said to him warmly, a genuine smile gracing her beautiful face. She took a few steps towards him and frowned. “You don’t look so happy.”

Jon brooded, staring at the floor. “Pleasant news in an unpleasant circumstance. Yes, Bran is alive and safe back at Winterfell. But the army of the dead is marching towards Eastwatch. Who knows how safe Winterfell will be in the weeks and months to come? Who knows how safe the North will be? Or even Westeros? The Wall hasn’t been properly manned in years, and barely anyone south of the Neck even believes the army of the dead exists!”

Daenerys stepped forward again and took his hand, tracing lines on Jon’s palm with her thumb in a comforting gesture. “I know,” she said softly. “But the Wall itself has kept them out for thousands of years, hasn’t it?”

Jon felt the same heart-wrenching anxiety and dread fill him that had done so when he had seen hundreds of wights raised at Hardhome. It was entirely consuming and Jon felt his breathing begin to constrict. “It’s not enough,” he told Daenerys. “The Wall is not enough, all the dragonglass is not enough!” His words sounded angry, but really he just felt a desperate need for help. “I need to go home.”

Daenerys withdrew her hand and frowned at him. “You said you don’t have enough men.”

“I’ll fight with the men I have,” Jon retorted. He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you’ll join us…?”

“Perhaps I will,” Daenerys said lightly after a pause. Jon looked at her in surprise, having expected her to continue the argument. “Well, it’s true I don’t need to worry about Cersei taking back half the country the moment I march north. I will need to take the throne first, of course, so that I have the authority to send all the forces of Westeros to the Wall. Have you sent some shipments of the dragonglass to Winterfell?”

“Aye,” Jon replied. “And Arya’s friend Gendry has been put to work beginning to make some of the weapons from it here. He’s not bad, actually.”

Daenerys didn’t seem to be listening to him. “I am conflicted,” she said truthfully, stepping closer to him again. “I told you I would help you if you bent the knee. You haven’t. And I don’t want to be seen as a ruler who goes back on her word…” Jon just managed to not raise his eyebrows as he looked away from her. Surely not…?

“But,” she continued, “I also realise that if this army of the dead, and the Night King do defeat you and your forces, there will be no kingdoms for me to rule at all. Everyone will likely die. And then everything I have done over the years will have been for nothing...” She broke off then, and suddenly looked self-conscious. “I don’t want to seem selfish,” Daenerys said. “I also want to help people. I don’t want to hurt the North; I want to save it.” She stepped forward again, and was now impossibly close, just inches away from touching him. “Do you see my problem?” Jon took a pace back in order to keep the balance. They were having a serious conversation after all.

“Aye,” Jon said again. “And I trust that you can see mine.”

There was a kind of hopeful silence again, just like the second ever conversation they had had on the steps, overlooking the sea and the dragons flying around their new home. Daenerys was regarding him very carefully, and Jon began to feel uncomfortable under her stare, especially as they still stood so close.

“When I take the Iron Throne, the first thing I will do is send all available forces north to help you fight,” she said. There was no softness to her gaze or tone now, only hard determination. “I will leave orders that the rest of the dragonglass should be mined, and I myself will ride to Winterfell with my dragons, Dothraki and the Unsullied when they come back to me.”

Jon looked back at her. “Thank you,” he said slowly, quietly, and in surprise.

“And in return,” Daenerys continued coolly. “When we defeat the Night King and his army, we will talk again about the Iron Throne and which kingdoms belong to it.”

“Of course,” Jon said courteously. “The likelihood of me surviving the Long Night is pretty low. If I die, you can have the North. All I ask is that you name Sansa or Bran Warden of the North and treat them kindly.”

“I will.” Both of them clasped hands again, in agreement. After a few seconds, Jon made to release her hand, but Daenerys gripped his harder.

“Perhaps we should not be so morbid, though,” she said, adopting the same easy tone as she had earlier. “We will have strong forces. You yourself are a good swordsman, as is your sister.”

Jon laughed. “Yes. Arya was surprising this morning. My father always said to let girls win, and I had every intention of doing so, but I never expected such a challenge as I did.”

“It was interesting to watch,” Daenerys countered. “You must be excited to see your brother again.”

“Aye,” Jon said, not really sure how to feel. Excited? Apprehensive? Dread, with the knowledge Bran had brought? “And nervous. Sansa and Arya have changed so much over the years, and Bran must have seen other things most people wouldn’t believe. He’ll have changed too.”

“Sometimes change is good,” the queen replied. “Maybe he’ll know something you don’t about the Long Night, as you call it. But even if he has changed, you’ll take it in your stride. You’re as close as ever with Arya, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Jon agreed.

“You’re a good brother,” Daenerys sighed. Jon peered at her closely. “Viserys was never like that. He used to be good to me, when I was very young. But then the pressure of being the last dragon and the anxiety of being constantly hunted by the Usurper changed him, warped his mind. He was weak, and selfish – and very cruel. He wouldn’t have cared if an army of undead monsters descended on Westeros, only that he could rule over whatever was left come spring.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said gently, giving her hand a squeeze. He couldn’t imagine what that would be like. Catelyn Stark had been the only person to treat him badly at Winterfell.

“Don’t be,” Daenerys replied. “He was an abuser, he sold me off to the Dothraki – true. But had he not, he may still be alive, and I would not be the person I am today. Back in Westeros and just days away from sailing to the Red Keep.” Jon reflected on the meeting he had attended before Arya had turned up. All that had been spoken about was plans for Daenerys’ coronation and speculation about the loyalty of Cersei’s subjects.

“You could leave for Winterfell the same time I leave for Kings Landing,” Daenerys suggested. “Then my forces could ride north and meet you…” she broke off and studied the map table in front of her for a second. “…at White Harbour, or around that area.”

“That sounds good.” Jon said, gently picking up a wolf piece and placing it to the left of White Harbour on the table. Daenerys picked up at dragon in response, and placed it next to the wolf.

“I leave in four days,” she added, casually. She smiled softly at him again. “And then the real game begins.” She turned around and made to leave. “Now, go and spend some time with Arya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Once again I feel like this is one of my weaker chapters, but I have solid plans for the next one so please stick around! The next chapter will be in Dany’s POV and will be a bit more Jonerys-ish than this one.  
> Don’t forget to review – I love hearing from all of you.


	10. Chapter 10 - Daenerys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES.

It had been a very tiring day. All the plans had been put in place for Daenerys’ journey to Kings Landing. Some of the Dothraki had already gone to the capital to make arrangements for her safety as she came to take what was rightfully hers. To start with, Dany had worried about Tyrion: that grief over his sisters’ demise would have caught up with him, or that he would be loath to return to the city. So far she had been pleasantly surprised. He had seemed steadfastly determined now to get her on the throne, with an almost scary mixture of silent anger and fierce pride.

The meeting had been long and dull, but at least everyone was now planned and prepared. Dany carelessly wandered around her bedchamber as the sun began to set. Jon and Arya had spent the remainder of the day together. Word had arrived that the Unsullied were starting to make their way to the Red Keep. Missandei had been delighted, and Daenerys knew they had to be an item, and felt happy for her friend. She had also told Tyrion, Jorah and Varys that she planned to march north soon after becoming queen. All had disapproved of her decision, insisting that it was a bad plan and that she wouldn’t be safe, but there was nothing they could do. She was in charge, after all.

Dany was alone now, having retired early. She couldn’t help but feel excited for the future. While Dragonstone was important for her heritage, she couldn’t deny that it wasn’t a particularly comfortable seat to man. There was a cold and unfeeling air to the place. Daenerys found herself rummaging through a couple of old chests under her bed, wondering who the room had belonged to before her, and before the would-be Usurper Stannis Baratheon. So far all she had found was old, frayed clothing, but still Dany sorted through, desperate to find something one of her ancestors had left behind. It was getting more difficult to see as the sky turned from blue to a deep orange, and the candlelight begun to dwindle.

It was as she got to the bottom of the old oak that she stumbled across something shiny, that reflected a tiny beam of light in the growing darkness. Intrigued, Daenerys gently pulled – surprised at the weight. A jewel box, perhaps she thought, but then changed her mind as she pulled out something quite different. Long and thin and –

'A sword' she realised. 'I’ve pulled out a sword'.

But it wasn’t just any sword. Dany picked it up and carried it over to the weak sunlight to get a better view. It was a very dark silver, almost black, yet it had an almost iridescent glow to it. The flat blade of metal looked many times forged, like the steel had been folded over and over in the making. It was beautiful, but profoundly sharp. Even to Daenerys’ untrained eye, it was clear to see that this was no ordinary blade. It was Valyrian steel. And as Dany continued to examine the weapon, she found it was no simple Valyrian blade, either.

It was Dark Sister.

Dany’s heart gave a swell as she realised she held one of her ancestral swords. How did this end up here? she wondered. She then went back to scavenging through the chest and after a few minutes found a leather scabbard. She sheathed the blade and fixed it to one of her belts. 'That’ll do' she thought in satisfaction. 'That’s mine'. But she couldn’t envisage herself wielding the thing. 'I’ll need to learn how to use it' she supposed. 'But who to teach me?'

Daenerys knew she could choose any of the Dothraki or Unsullied to train her. But she didn’t want to. The Dothraki didn’t know swordplay – the arakh was their weapon of choice, and she knew the Unsullied would go too easy on her, careful not to hurt their queen. For a moment, she considered Jorah – he had been great in his day, and was still good – but she didn’t want to put any strain on him as he was still getting his strength back from his time with greyscale. She pondered on whether to ask Jon. There was no denying that he was a good swordsman – he had been Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, after all – but the mere thought of spending hours at a time with the King in the North made her face flush. No. Tyrion, Varys, Missandei and Ser Davos she knew were incompetent with weaponry. Which could only leave the younger Stark girl – who was scarily good with a sword. Daenerys smiled and made a mental note to ask Jon’s little sister a favour…

Dany began to rest then, truly, for perhaps one of the first times since arriving at Dragonstone. She couldn’t take her eyes off the blade in front of her, thinking about who had wielded it in the past. Daemon Targaryen, Aemon the Dragonknight, even Queen Visenya herself. All silver haired, violet eyed dragons like herself.

Just as this went through her mind, Dany heard the dragons screech loudly from outside. She rushed back over to the window in alarm. It really was growing dark now, and Daenerys could not see them. They had to be on the other side of the castle. Sometimes the dragons would caw out in communication, Drogon always the loudest and Viserion always the quietest – but they never screeched like that unless it was her with them. Dany sighed, before gathering up a thick cloak and heading outside. She would find out what the fuss was about.

Her fear dissipated slightly when she got outside. Drogon and Viserion were doing their usual laps around the island, but Rhaegal was nowhere to be seen. 'Where is he?' Daenerys said again and again in her mind as she raced down the steps. She could still hear shrill noise coming from below. She tried to reach the green dragon in her mind but she couldn’t. Dany had only had this connection with Drogon so far, presumably since she had spent more time with him and bonded with him, while Rhaegal and Viserion had spent many months locked away together under the Great Pyramid of Meereen.

Dany stopped short when she reached the end of the steps. On the beach, just around the corner, Rhaegal stood hunched over the ground. Immediately in front of him stood none other than Jon Snow. Once again confusion and curiosity swept through her as she watched the little scene in front of her. 'How does he have this connection with him?' she pondered. 'Why don’t they seem to see him as a threat?' Dany shook her head silently.

'Because he’s a good person' another voice in her head answered. 'He is honest and trustworthy, and they know he would never hurt them or me.' Dany’s stomach flipped and she decided it was time to intervene. Rhaegal’s disposition was the most undiscovered to her and she began to feel a slight prod of anxiety into Jon’s wellbeing.

“This is what they were making a fuss about,” she said lightly, gaining Jon’s attention. “They seem to like you, don’t they?”

“I am very sorry to have disturbed you, Your Grace,” Jon said earnestly, sending her an apologetic glance. “I was just on my way back up from the cave. I definitely wasn’t expecting to have a visit paid on me by your dragon.” He looked back at the green dragon and tentatively petted at the scales once more. “What is his name?”

“Rhaegal,” Dany answered, thoroughly bemused.

Jon gently withdrew his hands. “After your brother?”

“Yes,” she replied. “The yellow one is Viserion, after Viserys. And the one I ride is Drogon.”

“Drogon? Sounds a bit like ‘dragon’,” Jon looked back at her and smiled.

Dany grimaced. “It does,” she said. “I named after my husband. I hatched the dragons at his funeral pyre, I figured it would be just to name one for him.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” he said gently. Dany shook her head and grimaced again, instead focusing on the majestic creature in front of her. 'If I look back, I am lost.'

“I know it’s probably unwise to choose favourites when it comes to dragons,” Jon said, “but I definitely think Rhaegal is my favourite. Smaller, less scary, but still fierce.” Rhaegal roared in approval, his breath blowing Jon’s hair back, causing them both to laugh. The green dragon then turned to face Daenerys, gargantuan feet pounding at the sand, causing the ground to shake. Dany almost laughed when he tilted his head to one side, blinking at her.

“A mother cannot choose favourites at all,” Daenerys told the dragon. She knew this was a lie – she was Drogon’s rider and she had bonded with him more than Rhaegal and Viserion combined. But her green child didn’t know that. “But there is no denying that you are very lovely, Rhaegal.” The green dragon bared his teeth into what sort of resembled a toothy grin, before turning right around and taking to the sky. Jon laughed at her, and Dany smiled back.

“They do seem to like me,” Jon mused, standing next to her. “I can’t see why. Are they like that with your friends and advisors?”

“No,” Dany answered truthfully. “They never hurt anyone who is loyal to me. When they were very small they used to spend a lot of time with my then-handmaidens. But I’ve never seen them act the way they do with you, except with myself.”

“Weird,” Jon laughed nervously.

“Definitely,” Daenerys agreed. “There is so much that intrigues me about you, Jon Snow.” The second part was out of her mouth before she could even think.

“Really?” Jon asked. He still looked a little anxious. “Like what?”

“Things that perhaps I will never know,” Dany said. “Such as, why do the dragons like you so much? Not that I mind, of course,” she added, seeing the look on his face. “I can think of many more far worse candidates for their affections. But also your story. Where you’ve been, what you’ve done, how you’ve changed since you left Winterfell for the Wall…”

“Well, like I said, I’ve no idea what your children see in me,” Jon said, looking from where Rhaegal had taken off and back to her. “I don’t know who my mother was, but it is highly unlikely that any dragon blood flowed through her veins. As for how I’ve changed, well, I don’t think I have. I’ve got better with a sword, perhaps, but I think that’s about as far as it goes…” He broke off and looked at her. “I don’t like to keep going on about myself, Daenerys. Not when my story is probably not half as interesting as yours.” Dany’s stomach fluttered as Jon referred to her by name.

“My story is pretty much the same in each city,” Daenerys replied, not really wanting to go into many details. “Qarth. Yunkai. Astapor. Meereen. I went in, liberated the slaves, ruled for a bit, then left.” She frowned, knowing this wasn’t all the same at all. Different people, different stories, different fights, betrayals and friendships. “You on the other hand – I hear you’ve been to Castle Black, North of the Wall, Winterfell, everywhere that’s possible to go in the North.”

“Aye,” Jon told her. “And it’s all the same. Dull. Cold. Stubborn people who all wish they were warmer and further south.”

“Essos is warm,” Dany offered, and just like that, Jon was smiling again.

“I am sorry to have disturbed your evening,” Jon said sincerely, a few moments later.

“Not at all,” she responded. “It was, in fact, the dragons – they disturbed my evening and yours.” They both smiled in amusement again.

“Well,” Jon said. “It’s getting late, and we’re both going to need our strength for the days ahead.”

“Indeed,” Dany agreed, though she felt slightly sad that they were going to be parted again. It seemed there were just so many moments that they were alone together, to laugh and talk, to slowly confide and fall for one another. Daenerys didn’t really want him to leave, and the longer she was in his company, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to either. “You must be excited to be going home.”

“And nervous,” Jon grimaced. “With what’s ahead, and all. I imagine you must be too.”

“Yes,” Dany confessed. “Terrified, in fact. But I’ll endure. I always have.”

Jon grinned at her, and took her hand, squeezing it ever so slightly. “Sometimes strength is terrible.”

“Aye,” she replied, mimicking his northern accent, which made him laugh like a child. It was a nice sight to see. For a short moment, he looked lighter and younger.

“Well,” Daenerys added in the same tone as Jon had, after a little pause. She smiled, with a twinkle in her eye. “Goodnight, Jon Snow.”

He smiled in the growing darkness, gently caressing her shoulder in farewell. “Goodnight Daenerys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed and please review.  
> I know a lot of you want a speed-up in the whole Jonerys relationship, but more stuff needs to happen in terms of plot first. Just got to keep reading!  
> The next chapter will be in Arya’s POV. Thanks again for reading everyone, please let me know what you think.


	11. Chapter 11 - Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net!
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES

Arya had been briefed by Jon on what was going to happen. She was to travel with him back north to White Harbour, and then go on back to Winterfell. Daenerys was going to bring all her forces north not long after. Arya had spent a few hours staying very close to the dragon queen – unbeknownst to her, of course, trying to find evidence that she would go back on her word. Arya wasn’t sure if she completely trusted the Mother of Dragons yet. But she had been pleasantly surprised to find nothing – Daenerys genuinely seemed to have Westeros’ best interests at heart and seemed keen to help everyone by assisting the North in the fight for the dawn. There also seemed to be a very tentative, well, interesting relationship blooming between the queen and Arya’s own half-brother, which she couldn’t help but be amused by, although she knew deep down that Daenerys would not commit herself on a personal level, but continue her pursuit of her goals. Arya knew Daenerys would make a great ruler on the Iron Throne, though she worried over the implications this would have for Jon, the Starks and the North. Arya didn’t want to have to pull Daenerys down as quickly as she had Cersei, but family and home would always have to come first. No matter what.

Arya had begun to pack her few possessions back up into a small bag – her new dagger, along with the clothes she had come by in Kings Landing. She had never enjoyed packing, and she thought back to the bittersweet moment all those years ago. How frustrated she had been with her sister and Septa Mordane, so perfect in their ways, insisting she repack everything. How Jon had come in, sombre as always, saying goodbye before heading off to the Wall. The excitement she had felt, holding Needle for the first time, mingled with the sadness of knowing Jon was leaving, and that it would be a long time before she saw her favourite sibling again.

The young Stark girl smiled as she finished, the sweet memories of childhood still fresh in her mind.

Once finished, Arya decided to do another sweep around the island, honing her skills. She knew she wouldn’t find anything out of place, but it was good practice and it was interesting to find out things about people. She strapped Needle back to her belt, donned her cloak and headed outside. They would leave Dragonstone tomorrow, and she admitted to feeling slightly fond of the coastal settlement.

Arya stood in one corner on the cliff, watching the sea. Within seconds, she recognised the presence of another figure, similarly clad in a cloak, visible by the shadows. Arya turned around but stayed hidden, to see Daenerys making her way down to the beach. Every few steps, the dragon queen would look over the steps, as though she was searching for someone. Arya frowned. She didn’t look the commanding leader at the moment, but softer, and more vulnerable. Arya decided to make her presence known, just in case she looked back and thought she was spying on her.

“Who are you looking for, Your Grace?” she asked, trying to make her voice sound light and friendly. She had spent so much time talking expressionlessly, like the Faceless Men, so trying to get a tone back to conversation was something difficult.

Daenerys whipped around and was visibly startled. “Arya! You scared me!” But she smiled as she put one hand on her chest.

“Sorry,” Arya replied, grinning too. “Lost something?”

“No,” Daenerys replied. She looked a little shy, and perhaps still slightly shocked. “I was actually looking for you.”

“Me?” Arya suddenly felt suspicious, and deeply nervous. If she was in trouble, it would be difficult to get out. 'What does she want?' “Why?”

“I wanted to ask you a favour, if you don’t mind,” the queen said. “Would you come with me?” She indicated to go down to the beach.

Interest peaked, but feeling a little uneasy, Arya nodded. “Where will we go?”

“Somewhere that we will not be overheard, or seen – hopefully,” Daenerys said. She looked at Arya and must have noticed her slightly narrowed eyes. “You’re not in trouble. I just want help with something, and I think you may be the better person for the job.”

“Alright,” Arya replied. She didn’t feel much comforted, but she made an effort to relax her muscles and look as though she didn’t mind what she was doing.

The two of them continued down the long and winding path, all the way to the beach. Instead of continuing on round to the dragonglass mines, they went the other way. Along the coast was the lengthy rock strata, but further than that was a small, secluded space of softer sand, that looked untouched. Arya realised that would be where they were heading.

It was fun, crossing the strata. Daenerys and Arya both wobbled several times on the thin layers of rock, but it would be quicker to walk over it than around it. Arya was grinning broadly by the time they reached the other side, and the queen was giggling nervously from having nearly slipped over so many times. She kept looking over her shoulder, as though trying to make sure no one was watching her. A couple of Dothraki still stood on the other side of the strata. The queen raised her voice and spoke to them in a guttural tone; Arya did not know what she said but the warriors’ response was to turn and leave, walking back to the cliffs.

'She feels comfortable being alone with me' Arya realised. 'Despite what I’ve done. But why?' She frowned.

“I need you to help me,” Daenerys started. “I know you’re leaving tomorrow, but it won’t be long before we meet again, and hopefully you can help me again then too.”

Arya twitched one eyebrow. “What is it you want me to do?”

In response, the queen reached within her cloak… and withdrew a sword. Arya could not help but gasp in admiration. It was longer and thicker than Needle. The metal looked like it had been folded over many times in the forging, as though it had some kind of quiet magic to it.

Arya took a step closer. “This is Valyrian steel,” she pointed out, even though it was obvious that this was no ordinary sword.

“Yes, it is,” Daenerys said softly, looking with admiration at the blade. “I found it when I was going through some things, last night.” She broke off and swallowed nervously, before lowering her voice to naught more than a whisper. “I think it might be Dark Sister.”

Arya gasped excitedly, looking at the sword and at the dragon queen with a newfound respect and awe. “The one Visenya had!”

Daenerys smiled at her enthusiasm. “A fan?”

“Yes!” Arya breathed. “Visenya Targaryen was a great warrior. She had the Valyrian steel sword called Dark Sister, and rode Vhaegar into a hundred battles. And she was in charge of building the Red Keep…” she paused. “She was one of my favourites, growing up. Robb and Jon used to pretend to be members of the Kingsguard, like Ser Barristan and the others. But I always liked Visenya more.”

“It is rare for a woman to also be a warrior,” the queen acknowledged. “I must say, I always thought more of Queen Rhaenys and Queen Visenya than some of my other ancestors.”

“You’re a warrior,” Arya pointed out. “It’s true. Look how far you’ve come. And you’ve got dragons, just like they did.”

“Some say that Drogon is nearly the same size Balerion was when Aegon took Westeros,” Daenerys mused.

Arya was piecing together information in her mind. The sword. Visenya’s sword. Being just the two of them together. Valyrian steel. Sword. Isolated…

“You want me to teach you to use it,” she finally said.

“Yes,” Daenerys answered, simply. “I saw your spar with Jon, and I could tell that he wasn’t going easy on you. I know I could ask any of the Dothraki or Unsullied, but the Dothraki are not good with swords, and the Unsullied would be too scared to hurt me. I know you are loyal to Jon, not me – so you would not be scared.”

“True,” Arya agreed. “Plus Jon would be too scared of harming you as well. He was with me, to start with, until he eventually understood what I can do.” She looked carefully at the dragon queen, and noticed a faint blush starting to creep in to her cheeks. “Plus it would just be awkward, wouldn’t it?”

Daenerys laughed, but then changed the subject as her face reddened further. “How is your training with the Dothraki going?”

Arya thought back to a couple of days previously, when a Dothraki whose name she could neither pronounce nor remember had drilled her for an hour or so with the use of an arakh. “Not bad,” she answered. “It is a whole new style of fighting, which is always a challenge, but I learn fast. Only problem is the language barrier, really.”

“Fair enough,” Daenerys said, then awkwardly looked down to the sword. “Am I even holding it correctly?”

Arya stepped forward and inspected the queen’s grip, the same way Syrio had done, all those years back in Kings Landing. She adjusted Daenerys’ fingers very slightly.

“I know it’s heavy,” she said, watching as a small crease formed in the queen’s brow. “But once you’re used to it, you don’t feel the weight at all. It’ll make you stronger, which in turn will make you better at using it.”

“Alright,” Daenerys puffed, now struggling to raise the blade.

“It takes time,” Arya added. “If you have free time while you’re in Kings Landing, just practice holding it, and not dropping it when you swing it. That’s what my first few lessons were about, as well as attempting to strike. When you come North, we can practice again.”

“I want to be good at it,” Daenerys said, looking a little dejected. “I want to be of some use in the war to come.”

“You will be of use,” Arya argued. “You have three dragons and two different armies. You’ll be way more useful to us than all the northern lords put together, most likely.”

Daenerys smiled, looking a little comforted, and raised Dark Sister a few inches. “I think I’m getting stronger already.”

Arya grinned back at her. “That’s the spirit.” She took a few paces back and angled her body and Needle in a ready stance. “Your sword is so much bigger than mine, so in theory, you should have the upper hand.”

“But of course,” Daenerys said sarcastically. “Upper hand, with all my many seconds of experience.” Arya laughed and the queen tried to copy her. It wasn’t a bad fighting stance, she just couldn’t angle the sword properly. Arya motioned for her to stand sideways and lift her chin.

“I think you’re going to need some more armour, too,” she suggested. “And some more wintery clothing.”

“I will,” Daenerys sighed, still struggling with the weight. She brought up her other hand as a guide and tried to swing in Arya’s general direction. She easily sidestepped and defected the attack.

Arya laughed. “We’ll practice some more, next time we see each other.”

“Good,” Daenerys replied. With newfound friendship, the two of them clasped hands, before putting away their blades, and cautiously making their way back over the rock strata and back up to the castle of Dragonstone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone – thank you for reading again! I’m aware this chapter wasn’t particularly good, but I really wanted to properly introduce a level of friendship between Daenerys and Arya and I hoped a shared admiration of swords and the Targaryen dynasty would be a good ice breaker.
> 
> For those of you asking about Gendrya – maybe later. And Jonerys – sooner than you might think.
> 
> Thanks for reading again, please review, and I’ll get the next chapter published soon.


	12. Chapter 12 - Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted to Fanfiction.net
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES

“Arya? I have a question.” It was a day later and Jon had just about finished his preparations for the journey back north. They were set to leave that afternoon. Arya would accompany him to Winterfell, and so would her friend Gendry, it had been decided.

“What’s wrong?” Arya asked, grey eyes slightly crinkled with worry.

“Nothing wrong, just a thought,” he started. “When you were in Kings Landing, pretending to be Cersei Lannister, what did you tell the people what you were doing when you set sail for Dragonstone?”

“I told them I was giving the throne to Daenerys,” Arya replied. “Considering what happened at the Sept of Baelor and everything else that Cersei did… people didn’t exactly complain about it.”

“But what was Cersei’s –” he broke off and made quotation marks with his fingers – “long term plan?”

“To find refuge in one of the Free Cities,” Arya answered. “Not necessarily Braavos. I decided she was going to flee there to escape from Tyrion, who she believed wanted her dead still. I figured that was pretty much the most realistic explanation for Cersei not returning – and not making it look like Daenerys killed her.”

Jon nodded, secretly impressed with how his little sister had thought things through. “Someone should tell her that, really.”

Arya gave him a wicked grin. “Maybe you should,” she suggested, even going as far as to open the door for him. “Something tells me she wouldn’t mind an excuse to spend time with you.”

Jon flushed and immediately changed the subject. “What were you two doing, earlier?”

“Her secret, not mine,” Arya said breezily. “Though I expect you’ll find out soon enough.”

“Nothing reckless or dangerous?” he asked, remembering his sister’s affinity with doing things that were just that.

“Absolutely reckless and dangerous,” Arya told him with a smirk. “Go on. Go and spend some time with the Mother of Dragons. It’ll be a little while before you see her again.”

“Maybe you should go and spend some time with Gendry, then,” Jon teased her back.

“Maybe I will,” she retorted. “I’m getting him to make me some proper armour, for when I join you in the fight against the dead.”

Jon nodded in response, though he now felt even more uneasy. He didn’t want to think of Arya having to fight the undead monsters on the other side of the Wall. He especially didn’t want to think of that fiery little spirit of hers becoming icy and dead if she lost.

He eventually did leave.

When he finally shown into the chamber of the painted table, Jon found Daenerys talking with Tyrion.

“Lord Snow,” the latter said in greeting, a twinkle in his eye as he sipped from a cup of wine.

“You seem excited at the prospect of leaving this place, my lord,” Jon pointed out, smiling slightly at the dwarf’s enthusiasm.

“I am excited to get back to the capital, as a matter of fact,” Tyrion replied. “I just hope my sister did not drink the cellars beneath the Red Keep completely dry before her death.”

“It would be nice if you would stop before you drink my cellars beneath Dragonstone completely dry before we leave,” Daenerys interjected, giving him a disapproving look. “Remember what I said about you advising me while you can speak in complete sentences?”

“I do,” the queen’s Hand replied, draining the cup. “But the next segment of my advice won’t be needed until we set sail tomorrow, and this is today.” He sighed as Daenerys continued to stare at him, and he looked over at Jon. “I’m the only one around here who drinks,” he complained. “Grey Worm doesn’t, Missandei doesn’t, even Mormont doesn’t. Do you drink, Jon?”

“Only when I have to,” he replied seriously.

Tyrion laughed. “Why, I had to drink all the time when I visited the Wall, just to get through the evenings with some of your brothers.” He paused. “Or ex-brothers, I suppose. Those men could never quite get their heads round a decent joke. That Ser Alliser… Thorne, was it? He was one of the worst. Did you ever even see him smile? Once?”

“No,” Jon answered shortly. He didn’t want to think about that man. How he had hung him beside Olly and the others. What he had done to him.

“Wouldn’t have thought so,” Tyrion sighed. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.” He walked over to the side and placed his cup down. He then looked meaningfully at Daenerys. “Be careful.” And with one final twinkle of the eye, he left.

“I wonder if there has ever been a day where he hasn’t consumed any alcohol,” Daenerys mused, rolling her eyes. She took a step closer, an intimate gesture, but her tone remained formal. “What can I do for you, Jon Snow?”

“I found out some information from my sister,” he said. He then proceeded to tell her how the people of Kings Landing now viewed Cersei.

“That is good to know,” Daenerys said when he had finished. “Thank you, Jon.” She smiled. “Arya certainly is extraordinary.”

“You don’t say,” Jon murmured fervently. “I’m glad the two of you seem to get along so well, though. I doubt Arya’s met many people she likes during her travels.”

“It is nice being on her good side,” Daenerys agreed, smiling a smile that made her entire face light up. “I can imagine life not being particularly so, was I not.”

“She seems so intent on helping me fight,” he said, the concerns pouring out of his mouth without him really thinking about it. “We’ve been separated for so long… I don’t want her to die, or worse, in the wars to come.”

“I can understand that,” Daenerys said gently, taking his hand. “I know you love her. I know you want to protect her. I would be suspicious if you didn’t feel that way, and I wish my brother had felt the same about me. But I think Arya has demonstrated that she is quite capable of taking care of herself, don’t you think?”

“Aye.” Jon couldn’t help but agree, but the worry still churned in his stomach.

“I know the long term future isn’t so bright,” Daenerys continued. “It’s all you men seem to think about, the long term. It is all Tyrion is planning for, and you, but perhaps you too need to think about the short term. You’re going home, you’re going to see Sansa and Bran again and enjoy the reunions between them and Arya. You won’t even need to march north for a little while, surely? You’ll want to secure Winterfell and gather your forces first?”

“Yes,” Jon nodded again.

“You have things to look forward to,” Daenerys said softly. “Just try to focus on them for now. Then, in a couple of weeks, we can focus on the Night King and our enemies north of the Wall.”

“Thank you,” Jon replied eventually.

The queen smiled, looking radiant. “What for?”

“For your wisdom,” Jon answered honestly. “Your hospitality. For agreeing to help me, and letting me mine the dragonglass.”

Daenerys simply shook her head. “It’s nothing. I want to help the north, not conquer it.”

“At least not to start with,” Jon added, smiling at her.

“Well,” Daenerys grinned back. “I’m all for short term, you know.”

“But of course.”

She took another step towards him. She was impossibly close again, close enough for Jon’s mind to wander to how beautiful she was, as well as how regal, how strong and how smart and kind and brave in equal measure.

“I suppose this is farewell,” she said, her voice as soft as a whisper. Her iridescent purple eyes bore into his. “We’ll see each other again soon, Jon Snow.”

“Aye,” he replied, struggling to swallow, as he gently tucked a loose strand of her silver hair behind her ear. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to kiss her, to finally stop running rings and to take the next step. But he knew he couldn’t. Not yet, with so much depending on their military alliance. Plus the fact that he wouldn’t see her again for some time. Leaning forward, he settled for a chaste kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you soon, Daenerys.”

It was the memory of her true words of wisdom, her beautiful face and her smile that got him through the ten-day voyage to White Harbour.

“How do you think Sansa will react when we all turn up at Winterfell?” Arya pondered as they spent some time together. They had reached White Harbour that morning and were beginning to set up camp with Lord Manderly’s men, waiting for Daenerys’ forces to reach them. The queen herself would join them first, accompanied by the dragons, with the Dothraki riding hard on the Kingsroad, expected to be a few days’ behind. The Unsullied would leave Kings Landing after them and spend three weeks travelling to Winterfell, and they would not march north until the latter army had been adequately rested.

Jon pondered for a while before answering. “Suspicious. Not of us, but of them – especially of Daenerys.”

Arya tutted. “Obviously. I was suspicious of Daenerys until I actually got talking to her. Then what?”

“Even more suspicion,” Jon sighed. “Sansa didn’t want me to go to Dragonstone – none of them did. She won’t trust Daenerys at all…”

“It would’ve been awkward for me if you hadn’t been at Dragonstone when I got there,” Arya commented, before going off to find Gendry. And as Jon reflected, he realised she was right.

The next two days had been busy, preparing for Daenerys and the Dothraki. Making sure enough tents were set up and there was enough food to feed them on arrival, as well as sustain them for the journey to Winterfell. Gendry had been hard at work making weapons of dragonglass and Arya had helped drilling a group of children in self-defence, should the dead make it past the Wall. On the last night before Daenerys was due to join them, Jon sat with Arya for supper, deciding it was time he found out exactly what she had been up to during the years since they had last seen each other.

“So where did you go, after Father died, Arya?” Jon asked. “You never did tell me.”

“I went to many places,” Arya replied vaguely. “And did many things.” She must have noticed the way Jon was looking at her. “I’m sorry,” she said apologetically. “The reason why I don’t really want to tell you is because I don’t think you’d approve.”

“Why wouldn’t I approve?” Jon asked, his curiosity increasing.

“I killed Cersei,” Arya reminded him expressionlessly. “Do you really want to know where and how I learned my skills? Who I have travelled and spent time with? Who else I have killed, and who has been killed because of my actions?”

Jon thought about it for a second. It wouldn’t be a particularly pleasant story, but he really did want to know exactly how this new Arya worked. “Yes.”

She sighed. “I thought that might be the case.” She settled herself as comfortably as she could in the severe wooden chair in the tent.

“I watched Father die,” she started, and Jon’s heart writhed painfully in his chest. “From a way off. I escaped the Red Keep far before that, as you know. I had to kill a stable boy, who wanted to take me to Cersei. I stabbed him in the gut. I tried to get closer to Father when Joffrey called for his head, but Yoren grabbed me –”

“Yoren?” Jon interrupted. “From the Nights Watch?”

“Yes,” Arya answered. “He was in Kings Landing trying to get more recruits for the Watch. Anyway, he had seen me with Father and knew who I was. He cut my hair short so that I could travel north with him. Gendry was going with him too – that’s how I met him. Yoren was going to take me back to Winterfell, but we were attacked on the road…”

As Arya continued on with her story, Jon grew more and more alarmed. He had been appalled when he found that Arya had been the incognito cupbearer of none other than Tywin Lannister, then that she had travelled for so long with the Hound and had literally been outside during the events of the Red Wedding. He had been near tears when Arya recalled how she had seen Grey Wind killed, and his head mounted on Robb’s dead body, and later when Arya told him about her brief time in the Eyrie, as he realised how close she and Sansa must have been, yet not crossed paths. Concern grew to deep worry when Arya confessed that she had gone to train with the Faceless Men in Braavos and learnt to be a true killer.

“When I came back to Westeros, I went back to the Twins,” she continued on, finally. “And winter came for House Frey.”

Jon gasped as he eventually put two and two together. “The massacre at the Twins!” he said, shocked, concerned and impressed in equal measure. “That was you?”

“Yes,” Arya continued. “For what they did to Robb, and Mother, and all the others. The North Remembers.”

Jon couldn’t find the words to counter that.

“See?” Arya said, when she finished. “I told you that you would disapprove.”

“Not all of it,” Jon retorted, pulling his sister into a close embrace to reassure her. “I’m just amazed that you survived, and managed to get Needle back and hold onto it. Makes my training with the Nights Watch look very dull by comparison.”

“I still want to hear your story,” Arya replied. “Come on. I’ve told you mine. How did you end up being named King in the North, brother?”

“A long and dreary tale,” Jon said glumly. “A story for another night, perhaps. Daenerys arrives tomorrow, we will need to be well-rested and ready for action.”

“Of course.” With a final hug, Arya had left to go back to her own tent, opposite Jon’s own.

And a little while after first light the next morning, Jon heard the faint sound of three approaching dragons. He smiled as he got ready to meet with Daenerys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Please review and let me know what you think.


	13. Chapter 13 - Daenerys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted to Fanfiction.net
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES.

It was to weak sunlight and a biting, crispy chill that Daenerys rode north. She pretended not to mind, but she was beginning to worry about how she would fare as far north as Winterfell. She wanted to look like a strong and capable leader, and knew that running inside to shelter from the elements at every given opportunity wouldn’t do much for her reputation as a queen further north. Daenerys glanced behind her, further along Drogon’s back, at her companions. She hadn’t thought it wise or fair to leave Tyrion, Varys or Missandei to ride all that way with the Dothraki. Jorah had been up for the challenge, but the others Dany decided to take with her on the dragon. Saying that, they didn’t seem too keen to be so high up. She had thought Tyrion’s head would explode with excitement when she first proposed the idea to him, and he seemed to be the only one of the three of them to be enjoying the experience. Missandei looked terrified every time Drogon steered sideways or Viserion or Rhaegal overtook too closely. Varys looked positively green.

A few moments more, and Daenerys spotted a small field containing a gathering of what looked like tents, a couple of miles inland from the coast. They were nearly there. The mere thought of reuniting with Jon and Arya both excited Daenerys, and made her nervous. Especially now…

“This is White Harbour, Your Grace,” Tyrion shouted to her over the wind, as if Daenerys had not worked this out for herself already. She nodded in response in an over-exaggerated way so that he would see. She mentally asked Drogon to fly a few laps of the snow-dusted greenery first before descending to the ground, and used the time to clear her thoughts of the memories of the last few days.

She was now the official Queen of Westeros. Everything had gone to plan. She had arrived at Kings Landing on dragonback, naturally, and had dismounted in the Dragonpit. Her small entourage, meanwhile, had travelled by boat half a day earlier, in order to walk with her up to the Red Keep. The Unsullied were there to protect her, as well as the Dothraki. On arrival in the throne-room, Daenerys had wasted no time in naming Ser Jorah and Grey Worm as highest-ranking members of the Queensguard. All of the people in Kings Landing swiftly and relatively silently bent the knee to her, and Dany inwardly both marvelled and worried at Arya’s fail-proof strategy, while wondering exactly what she had done to ensure their allegiance to Dany. Part of her felt unsatisfied at how easy the whole thing had been – not exactly the conquest Aegon and his sisters had planned, nor the battle plan she had laid out herself at Dragonstone, before Jon, or indeed Arya, had turned up.

Arya… back to the here and now.

Daenerys swooped around the grassy clearing, looking in awe around her as a dusty layer of bright white snow began to fall. Then, she gently nudged Drogon to a landing, to one side of the gathering where there was more space. Dany dignifiedly slid to the ground from Drogon’s back via his wing, among hurried shouts of ‘the Queen is here!’ and ‘someone get the King!’. Daenerys extended a hand to Missandei, who practically flung herself to the floor without a backward look at the red dragon, seeming very relieved that the experience was over. Tyrion was grinning broadly, having also dismounted independently, while Varys still looked ill as he shakily made his way down, aided by two men in Stark livery. Drogon gave a sweeping glance around the field, checking for threats and finding none, before jumping into the air to soar around with Rhaegal and Viserion overhead.

“You certainly know how to make an entrance,” a quiet, serious voice came from behind. Daenerys turned.

“Arya!” she said, previously oblivious to her appearance and surprised to see her so quickly. Not many people dared to get close to any of the dragons. But, Daenerys realised, Arya was not exactly like many people.

The younger Stark girl regarded her carefully. “How are you?”

“Alright,” Dany replied. She had a horrible feeling that Arya could read her mind, and she knew she should really say something more meaningful. “You planned out Kings Landing very well.”

Arya shrugged. “It was nothing.” She paused, before bowing her head very stiffly. “I expect Jon’s on his way.” Daenerys was aware that Arya, as well as her other companions were all watching her, so she was careful not to say anything, only nodding.

And then there he was. Jon Snow bowed his head respectfully, but did not kneel – not that Dany had really expected him to. She looked into his dark eyes, hoping for a glint of humour, or at the very least a little more intimate recognition, but saw none. He was being strictly professional.

“Your Grace,” he greeted her, smiling – but still very formally. “I’m glad you found us.” Daenerys nodded again, aware that she was now surrounded by northerners as well. She steeled herself and narrowed her eyes, but her body betrayed her and she shivered violently.

A hint of worry appeared on Jon’s solemn, handsome face. “You must be tired after your long journey, Your Grace, not to mention cold…” He broke off and addressed all four of them. “I’ll show you to your tents. We can speak later.” Daenerys looked around at her companions and noticed they were all shivering too. Arya had disappeared. She looked back at Jon; she was grateful to be able to get out of the biting cold – and followed him with yet another mute inclination of her freezing head.

Tyrion, Varys and Missandei all had tents next to one another, with Jon’s not too much further along. If the whispers she had heard on the way to her own, opposite Tyrion’s and adjacent and as large as Jon’s, they would only stay a couple of days here, as the King in the North was keen to move closer to the Kingsroad, and indeed Winterfell.

There was no source of heat in the tent and Daenerys violently shivered again. She wished she could go to the dragons: Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion always seemed to radiate warmth. She had never known such cold, it felt like she was dying…

Tyrion entered her tent, interrupting her thoughts.

“Well, that could have gone better, Your Grace,” he said, reaching out as though to take hold of a wine jug, before remembering there was none.

Dany glared at him accusingly. “Meaning?”

“Your Grace,” he said seriously. “Over the last few years, you have gone from a little girl scared of her own shadow, to Queen of Westeros in your own right, but just laying eyes on Jon Snow after being separated for little more than a week reduces you to a mute, doe-eyed wreck!” He moved closer. “You need to stay focused in the weeks to come, Your Grace. We have come to a cold, dreary and unfeeling place.”

“And I need to remember who I am and what I am doing here, yes,” Daenerys replied, feeling a little irritated at her Hand’s intrusive meddling, although, deep down, she knew he was right.

“I know how you feel about Jon Snow –”

“– I don’t feel anything for Jon Snow –”

“– All I’m saying –”

“Well don’t.” Dany turned away from him as she felt her cheeks begin to redden.

A few seconds later, Tyrion took another step forward.

“How are the dragons?” he asked softly, changing the subject. “Will they adapt to their new climate?”

“They will if I do,” she replied, trying to look and sound indifferent, but now starting to worry.

“It is true that they are very close to you, and respond to change and environment similarly to the way you do,” Tyrion mused thoughtfully. “Especially Drogon.”

“Yes,” Dany agreed, unsure where he was going with this.

“Do you not worry about the other two, though?” he asked.

Daenerys frowned, confused. “Why would I?”

“I once read somewhere that every dragon needs a rider,” Tyrion told her. “To control their actions and ultimately make them safer, especially in dangerous situations,” he paused and made eye contact, “such as battle. Aegon and his sisters both rode dragons…”

Daenerys rolled her eyes. “If you want Rhaegal or Viserion all to yourself, then –”

But Tyrion cut across her before she could continue, making her frown. He had been interrupting her quite a lot of late. “I didn’t mean me, Your Grace. You know as well as I do that I am better strategist than fighter. And while I do have a small bond with both of them, I wouldn’t dare to say it was strong enough to let me ride either of them.”

Dany sighed, tired. “What are you trying to suggest?”

“I was thinking of Jon,” Tyrion said softly. Daenerys spun around to look at him in shock, but said nothing. “You have seen the way the dragons react with Jon. While I agree that it is very strange that they do so – they do not really know him, and it is highly unlikely that Jon has any Targaryen blood in him – you cannot deny that we could use his and their bond to an advantage…” Daenerys stopped listening for a moment to remember the way Rhaegal had seemed so at ease with Jon Snow back at Dragonstone.

'They do seem to like me', Jon’s voice echoed inside her head. 'I can’t see why'.

“…what do you think?” Tyrion’s question broke her out of her thoughts.

“I don’t know,” Dany’s voice wavered. “It would be safer for Rhaegal to have a rider…” She considered it for another few seconds. “I would have to ask him about it, he always seemed fairly nervous around them. Plus, wouldn’t it look a little strange if we both showed up at Winterfell on dragon-back? I will be distrusted and despised enough when I get there.”

“That is true,” Tyrion said, before going very quiet.

Daenerys looked at him shrewdly. “What’s the matter?”

“Just thinking,” he said, not meeting her gaze. “Remembering the time I went to the Wall. Remembering the last time I went to Winterfell. Remembering the last time I saw some of the people that live there.” He smiled at her. “Have no fear, you will not be the only person who is distrusted and despised when we arrive at the seat of the Starks.” He then shrugged out of his reminisce and took a step back. “Anyway, I had better go and talk to Varys.” He bowed and began to leave. “Remember what I said about the dragons!” he called as the tent flap fell back down.

Daenerys turned around and eyed the tent flap in determination. It was time to go and talk to Jon.

There were not many people milling about outside. A few tents along, Gendry and Arya were talking, several blades in their hands. Daenerys remembered that the boy was a blacksmith, and assumed Arya had offered to test the newest weapons he had crafted. The young Stark met her eyes and gave a little acknowledging nod as she passed.

It was obviously impossible to knock on the tent flap, so Daenerys simply increased the volume of her movement to indicate her presence before gently entering.

Both Jon and Ser Davos had their backs to her as she walked in, and Davos’ hand was on his king’s shoulder as they spoke in hushed voices. At the sound of the dropping tent flap, Davos turned.

“Your Grace,” he acknowledged politely, before turning back to Jon. He looked at him meaningfully and gave his shoulder a final pat; then he bowed his head and left behind Daenerys, who moved forward.

Jon gave her a light smile. “I assume everything went to plan in Kings Landing, Your Grace?” he prompted gently.

“Yes,” she answered simply, before shivering, although heat was slowly creeping up her face.

Jon moved swiftly and drew up two rickety, wooden chairs from the side of the tent. There was a pile of thick blankets in one corner of the room and he picked up one and handed it to her.

“You must be freezing,” he said, by way of justification, before sitting down and motioning for her to do the same. “I remember when I first got back up here it felt unusually chilly, but it must be horrible for you and your party having spent so long in Essos.”

Daenerys nodded fervently as she draped the blanket around herself. “How can you even live here? It is so, so cold!”

“Winterfell will be better, Your Grace,” Jon assured her. “It is built on a system of hot springs, and warm water flows through the castle.” He thought for a minute. “Maybe when we get there, you can have Lady Stark’s old chambers. She grew up in the Riverlands and never liked the cold – Robb always told me her rooms were the warmest.”

“That is kind of you,” Daenerys said, before changing the subject. “There’s something I need to ask you about.”

He regarded her seriously for a moment, his dark eyes boring into hers and making her heart beat a little faster. “Fire away.”

“That’s exactly what it comes to,” Daenerys said. “Fire,” she added, when she noticed Jon’s serious expression turn to one of confusion. “Jon… I’ve been thinking about the dragons, particularly Rhaegal, and thinking that maybe he would be safer with a rider on his back when we go after the Night King.” She looked up at him, almost pleading him to agree. “I want to ask you if you would be Rhaegal’s rider. Because he likes you…” She trailed off under the intensity of Jon’s brooding gaze. She gulped. “Of course, if you don’t want to then I can’t really force you, but I would implore you to at least try…”

“I think I would be better doing my fighting on the ground, Your Grace,” Jon told her straightforwardly. “Saying that, though – I don’t see any harm in trying. I want your dragons to be safe, both for your sake and for ours collectively. If the Night King gets one of them…” he trailed off and shook his head, looking pained. “I’ll at least try with Rhaegal. Just for a few minutes, and here, in case anything happens.”

Dany looked up at him, almost giddy with surprised delight. “Thank you!” she said excitedly. “I doubted that you would agree to it – thank you, thank you!”

Jon grinned at her, looking slightly amused. “You will join me, on Drogon – won’t you?”

“Of course!” Daenerys replied. She had agreed with herself that she would have to.

Jon gave a nervous laugh. “Well, this will be a first – a Stark riding a dragon! You will make sure Rhaegal doesn’t roast me alive, won’t you?”

Dany laughed along with him. “Obviously – although I very much doubt he would anyway, after seeing the way he reacted to you back at Dragonstone.” She was about to reiterate the fact that they must have had a special bond, but was distracted by Jon getting up. He took off his gloves and pulled on another thick cloak. He then turned back to Daenerys, with a look of perpetual fortitude.

“I’m ready,” he said simply, before extending his hand to her. She took it and got up.

As they left, Daenerys added, “you will need to learn the basic commands in Valyrian, since that is what they understand best.”

“Alright,” Jon replied as they followed a muddy path towards the corner of the field, where the dragons had roamed to. He looked unsure again.

“Zaldrīzes!” Daenerys called, and the three dragons looked up at her expectantly. With her peripheral vision she noticed that a few people were watching the two of them curiously. Tyrion, Varys, Missandei, Ser Davos, Arya and Gendry all came running closer from different directions, although they all maintained a safe distance.

“What in the seven hells is he up to now?” she heard Ser Davos mutter to Arya and Gendry.

Daenerys clambered on Drogon’s back as she had done a thousand times. Jon gently approached Rhaegal, extending a gloveless hand for the dragon to sniff. She tried not to laugh again as Rhaegal looked from Jon to his back and back again. Jon nodded nervously and gently climbed the green dragon’s spikes and settled himself on his back. Drogon and Rhaegal had been standing close together when they had arrived, with the result that Daenerys and Jon were just inches away from each other, making it easy to talk.

“Make sure you’re holding on tight,” she told him. “I’ll take off on Drogon first and fly low – that way, Rhaegal will do the same. When you’re feeling more comfortable, we’ll go a bit higher.” Jon nodded back nervously.

“What’s the command?” he asked.

Daenerys bent closer to Drogon. “Sōves!” Drogon moved away from Rhaegal and took off, and Dany mentally reminded him to fly low and wait for his brother.

“Sōves!” Jon echoed, before letting out a surprised shout as Rhaegal jumped into the air. Daenerys got Drogon to fly in circles, a few metres from the ground, and after a few seconds Rhaegal came up to fly next to him.

“Are you alright?” Daenerys shouted to Jon.

“Yes and no!” He yelled back.

A few laps later, Daenerys heard him utter another yell. She turned to look at him and nearly screamed herself. Somehow he had slipped off Rhaegal’s back and was hanging on to one of his spikes with one hand.

“Land! Land!” she begged both dragons. Both of them lowered themselves by a few metres and were heading closer to the ground, but it was too late. Jon had lost his grip on Rhaegal and was falling fast. Daenerys looked down in desperation as his body hit the ground and she saw Ser Davos and Arya rush towards him.

The next few minutes were spent landing Drogon and Rhaegal safely. Rhaegal seemed very distressed, as though he knew what had happened to Jon and felt responsible, and it took Dany several minutes to calm him down. She then ran as fast as she could towards Jon’s tent, only to rush straight into Missandei, who caught her before she could fall over. Tyrion also made his way over as fast as his stunted legs would let him.

“He’s still alive, and no lasting harm is done,” Tyrion reassured her. “He’s just unconscious and bruised.”

“It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault!” Daenerys cried, no longer caring about the people staring.

“It’s also mine,” Tyrion reminded her. “It was my idea.”

“But I listened to you!” Daenerys said, trying to blink back tears of guilt and worry.

“Lord Snow will be fine,” Missandei said, but Dany wasn’t listening.

“I want to see him,” she demanded.

“I think it would be a better idea for you to go and lie down and calm down, Your Grace,” Tyrion said, firmly and gently. “Missandei, would you take our Queen back to her tent?”

“You need rest, Your Grace,” Missandei took her arm and led Daenerys back to her tent, much to her chagrin.

“When he wakes, let me know immediately,” she told Missandei, before dismissing her. She rocked backwards and forwards on her makeshift bed in silent agony, willing herself to be able to turn back time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be in Jon’s POV.  
> Let me know what you think by leaving a review!  
> Thank you so much for reading.


	14. Chapter 14 - Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES

Jon ran, as fast as his weary legs would carry him – for he knew he was being chased. His hair was frozen to his face and it became increasingly difficult to move or breathe. All he knew was that he had to keep running. The Night King was approaching with those blue, blue eyes and a look of icy fury, men all around Jon were dying and rising again, but all Jon could hear was silence.

Then, nothing but comforting warmth.

Jon opened his eyes to the tent he had stayed in since arriving at White Harbour, yet it did not look like the middle of the night nor early morning. He groaned uncomfortably in the pool of cool sweat from his nightmare and his arms hurt horrendously so when he tried to move them. Looking around, he spotted a petite, rigid figure, by the door as though standing guard.

“Arya?” he asked, his voice still croaky from sleep.

His little sister flew to his side in an instant. “Jon!” she exclaimed, an expression of both delight and worry on her serious face. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore and tired,” he replied honestly. “What happened?”

“Do you not remember?” Arya asked, regarding him carefully for a moment. “I don’t know what kind of conversation you had with Daenerys Targaryen beforehand, but you fell – must have been about thirty feet – from dragonback. You were riding one of the dragons – the green one, I think.”

“Rhaegal…” Jon said softly, and suddenly it all came back to him. The sensation of falling. The soaring laps around the field. The excitement on Daenerys’ face when he had agreed to try flying… “Of course!”

Arya rolled her eyes at him. “What in the seven hells were you thinking?” she said. “I mean, I can understand why you would want to, but why would you go so high up on your first time? And why here, for everyone to see?”

“I don’t know,” Jon groaned again, moving to sit upright, but eventually giving up. “Daenerys suggested I try and ride Rhaegal for his safety and mine. I figured it would be better to try now rather than when we go after the White Walkers.”

“If the Night King had been there two hours ago, you’d be as dead as he is,” Arya pointed out. Then she frowned. “Daenerys didn’t force you, did she?”

“No, she didn’t,” Jon replied quickly. Knowing Arya, life wouldn’t be good for the dragon queen if she thought otherwise. “She just asked. She also seemed very surprised when I agreed.”

“You’re strong, though,” Arya mused absent-mindedly, a few seconds later. Then she smirked at him. “Please don’t tell me that the reason you lost your grip was because you were too busy staring at her instead of where you were going!”

Instead of getting embarrassed, Jon decided to retaliate. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t been looking at Gendry, you’d have noticed the dragon swerve, and me panic and slip!”

Arya rolled her eyes at him again, but did not flush or look uncomfortable. She also didn’t say anything; instead she sat down on the bed next to him and looked… sad.

“What’s the matter?” he asked her, not accustomed to seeing Arya upset.

“I saw your scars,” she said, very quietly. “When Ser Davos and the others brought you back here.” She broke off to look at him. “Why didn’t you say anything? I told you what happened to me.”

“I had every intention of telling you, Arya,” Jon told her seriously, for it was true. He had told Sansa, after all, mere days after it happened. “I was just waiting for the right moment. When we got back to Winterfell, maybe, or if we had another one-to-one chat again before then. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Arya replied, still deathly quiet. “I trust you killed whoever did it to you,” she added vehemently.

“Yes,” he told her shortly, trying not to picture the scene, or imagine what Arya would have done to them if he hadn’t. “To be honest, it was the betrayal that hurt more than the knives.”

“Yes,” Arya countered. “I can tell. You were Lord Commander of the Nights Watch and you thought you could trust them.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed. “And one of them was just a boy. Younger than Bran.”

Arya’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Be that as it may, the fact remains that he did what he did. Regardless of his age, he was responsible for his actions.”

“You’ve become wise as well as deadly,” Jon laughed lightly a few seconds later in the hope of changing the subject. “A dangerous combination.”

Arya smiled breezily. Then she seemed to remember something. “A raven came from Winterfell, while you were unconscious. I have a reply from Sansa.”

“How is she?” Jon asked. He had begun to worry for his other sister. Especially since she was alone at home with Baelish.

“Surprised that I’m alive,” Arya smirked. “And that you are, considering where you went and who you met. Anxiously awaiting our return…” she trailed off and rolled her eyes. “All the lady-like stuff. Are you sure she’s changed?”

“Yes,” Jon replied, with feeling. “Positive. She’s been through a lot over the years, just like us.”

“She also asked me to tell you that a friend of yours from the Wall has arrived at Winterfell,” Arya added.

Jon frowned. “A friend? At Winterfell? Who?”

“I think his name was Sam,” Arya said, rummaging in the pocket of her cloak. She studied the parchment she found. “Yes, Samwell Tarly,” she confirmed. “He is a friend, isn’t he? Not one of the ones who let them hurt you?”

“No,” Jon told her. “He was my best friend in the Nights Watch. I sent him to the Citadel in Oldtown, by his request, to train up as the next Maester at Castle Black. He was the one who told me about the dragonglass at Dragonstone.”

Arya grinned. “Sounds dull.”

Jon smiled too for a moment, before remembering. “Arya, you don’t know where Daenerys is, do you?”

“In her tent,” Arya replied, indicating the general direction with a wave of her hand. “Why?”

“Don’t mention that Sam is at Winterfell to her, will you?” Jon pleaded.

His sister narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“She seemed upset when his name came up in conversation a while back,” Jon told her, remembering the conversation he had had with Ser Jorah. “I don’t want her to find out until I know why.”

“Fair enough,” Arya said. “It must be exciting for you, to see your best friend again after so long. I was excited to see Gendry again after what happened. Surprised that he actually survived, mind you…” she broke off and then lowered her voice. “The queen wasn’t half worried about you, when you fell,” she added. “She was very distressed.” Jon nodded in response, not really knowing what to say.

“Actually, speaking of Daenerys, she said she wanted to be told as soon as you woke up,” Arya informed him. “Presumably so that she could come and speak to you. Shall I go and get her?”

“Might be a good idea,” Jon said. “If she was upset, it’s best that I can reassure her that I’m okay.”

“Alright,” Arya said, getting up. “I’ll be back later. I’ll get Gendry to stand guard outside your tent for a few seconds, while I go and get the dragon queen.” And with that, she was gone, and in the space of a deep exhale her footsteps had faded altogether.

Jon barely had time to marvel at his sister’s agility before another figure entered the tent. All he could register was silver-blonde hair before Daenerys had leapt into a chair next to Jon’s bed.

“Thank goodness you’re awake!” Daenerys said, sounding breathless, and Jon could see the genuine fear in those deep violet eyes.

He smiled, trying to lighten the tone and reassure her. “At least Rhaegal didn’t –” but he was cut off by a horrified gasp from Daenerys. In confusion, he followed her gaze to his chest. He had forgotten to cover his scars…

Mentally kicking himself, he pulled the duvet up a little to cover the red crescent-shaped marks. Too late, of course. Jon looked up at the queen and saw tears swimming in her eyes. He wanted to kick himself again at the sight of her distress.

“That’s what Ser Davos meant when he said you took a knife in the heart for your people,” she said faintly. “I thought he meant metaphorical, and that one day I would get a story of some heroic deed, or… or something… I…” She was flabbergasted and struggling to put her thoughts into adequate wording. “But you literally did, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Jon answered her softly, taking one of her quivering hands on a whim.

“I’m sorry!” Daenerys said, sounding desperate, and a tear dripped onto her cheek.

Jon reached out a hand to wipe it away gently, the same way he had done when they were alone together at Dragonstone. He kept his voice steady as he spoke. “What for?”

“I…” Daenerys gave a shuddering sob before composing herself with a couple of deep breaths. “I remember, the first time we met, thinking you were some high-and-mighty warrior with silly ideas about the world, trying to take one of my kingdoms away. I was mean to you – rude, really – and yet you were honest from the start and I was too stupid to see. You’ve been brave, honest and kind to me, not to mention selfless, and I feel as though I’ve done nothing but make life more difficult for you. You’ve been a good friend to me when I’ve been upset, and we’ve worked together so well, like when we thought Arya really was Cersei that afternoon. Yet, that first day I told you my whole life story in short form, trying to show off and belittle and intimidate you, yet you were so modest and down-to-earth. But,” she broke off and stared again at his covered chest. “My suffering can’t have been anything compared to yours! I’ve been injured, I’ve been used and abused, but I’ve also been protected from most forms of life-threatening dangers. I’ve never been –” she gestured again.

Jon listened to her and took her words in carefully before responding. “We didn’t know each other then,” he reminded her. “I didn’t know you, and if you hadn’t told me what you have over the last few weeks then I still wouldn’t. I like the fact that you trust me, it makes for a far better alliance. You haven’t made life difficult for me; it was already difficult, besides – you let me mine the dragonglass, didn’t you? And you’re here now, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Daenerys said softly. “I just feel bad for being so… annoying, I guess. At the tiniest thing, I cry all over you like a silly child, I make stupid decisions that end up with you being like this,” she gestured to his bedridden state and rolled her eyes. “And all this time, you’ve had those scars on your chest.”

“I have,” Jon countered. “It’s true. But that’s all they are, Daenerys, scars. Aye, they have connotations of bad memories, some of which still haunt me to this day. But the physical pain has passed, and I’m doing my best to move past the betrayal.”

She nodded as though she respected his decision. “Can I just ask one question?”

A small smile worked its way onto Jon’s mouth. “Of course.”

“How are you not dead?” Daenerys asked simply.

Jon did not see the point in evading the truth. “I was.”

She looked at him in horror, her eyes still glistening.

“I let the wildings pass the wall,” Jon told her softly. “As no other Lord Commander has ever done before. I wanted to protect them, and besides, if they hadn’t, it would’ve just given the Night King thousands of more soldiers for his army.”

“And they killed you for it?” Daenerys said, soft as a whisper.

“Aye,” Jon replied. “My steward lured me outside and they all took turns stabbing me in the dark. I died. I should still be, but Ser Davos talked a Red Priestess into trying to bring me back, and, well, here I am…” He gave her hand a small squeeze and tried to focus on the deep purple of her eyes instead of the memory. “I don’t really like talking about it.”

“Then I won’t bring it up again,” Daenerys promised him, solemnly. “Only one more thing. The Red Priestess, the one who brought you back. Was her name –”

“Melisandre,” Jon answered. Then he noticed the recognition on her face. “How do you know her?”

Daenerys sighed. “She came to Dragonstone about a week after I got there,” she told him. “She actually encouraged me to summon you… Although, to be honest, I probably wouldn’t have done so if Tyrion hadn’t talked me into it too.”

“Nobody at Winterfell wanted me to go,” Jon said reflectively. “Sansa didn’t, although she mellowed a bit when I told her she could have the North while I was away. Ser Davos definitely didn’t. It’s a good job he didn’t know she was at Dragonstone, or I can’t have promised she wouldn’t have come to any harm.”

“She left the day you arrived,” Daenerys said softly, squeezing his hand. “Presumably for that reason. Why do you think Ser Davos and Melisandre dislike each other so much?”

“Melisandre sacrificed to her Lord of Light a child who was dear to Ser Davos. Burned the girl at the stake,” Jon explained. “I’ve never seen him as livid or full of anguish as I did the day he found out.”

“Oh,” was the simple reply. “Poor child.”

“Aye, she was a sweet girl,” Jon replied. “Stannis Baratheon’s daughter, Shireen. She stayed with her family at the Wall for a little while and out of all of them she was the least trouble. Kept to herself. Stayed in the library most of the time. Very polite.”

“She had greyscale, didn’t she? Like Ser Jorah?”

“Aye, she did. In fact, I’m curious as to how Ser Jorah was treated. I heard him say a while back that he hasn’t got a trace of the substance left on him, but half of little Shireen’s face was covered in it.”

“I expect Jorah would tell you,” Daenerys sighed. “He seemed to like your friend.” With that, she seemed to visibly close off. She gently withdrew her hand from Jon’s and stared at the cloth ceiling.

“Sam?” Jon said, his curiosity heightened. “Aye. In fact, Arya had a reply from Winterfell earlier on, from Sansa. Apparently Sam has gone to Winterfell.”

Daenerys’ eyes narrowed. “Why do you think that is?”

“No idea,” Jon replied cautiously. “I expect I’ll find out soon enough.” He looked at her shrewdly and gently took her hand again. “I noticed, when Ser Jorah mentioned him that you were upset, and now you are again,” he said softly. “I am friends with you, Daenerys, but I am also friends with Sam. He was my brother in the Nights Watch and one of those most loyal to me. What is wrong? Do you know him?”

Daenerys sighed again and shook her head. “I don’t know him,” she said, slowly and so quietly that Jon had a job to hear her. “But I… I knew his father and brother. Except not really. I…”

Jon thought hard. “The Loot Train Attack at Blackwater Rush? You saw them there, didn’t you, fighting on the other side?” The answer was in Daenerys’ shaky grimace. “They’re dead, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Daenerys said shakily. “You don’t want to know how.”

“I think I already know,” Jon replied, picturing Drogon engulfing two men in flame in his mind’s eye. He looked back at the dragon queen, and he could have sworn he had never seen her look so guilty.

“They were defiant,” Daenerys said. “They would not bend the knee; the only two…” she broke off, brooding. “Yet, your friend Sam must be a good man, for you to speak of him so highly, and Jorah – I don’t think he likes many people at all, but he likes him. And I killed members of his family!”

“Perhaps it was not the right thing to do,” Jon admitted delicately. “I know there are innocent soldiers in battles, but at the same time all those that were fighting without understanding what they were fighting for, or against their will, would have bent the knee.” Daenerys did not look much comforted by this, so Jon changed tack.

“For what it’s worth, there was no love lost between Sam and his father,” Jon told her, hoping the truth would make her feel less guilty. “Let’s just say, he didn’t join the Nights Watch out of duty or choice. He grew up terrified of Lord Randyll, so I really don’t think his death will hurt him too much.”

“His brother, though,” Daenerys said, as though in pain.

“I don’t know much about Dickon Tarly,” Jon conceded. “But at best, Sam thinks of him as a brother the same as he does the men of the Nights Watch. They certainly weren’t close.” He noticed how upset she still seemed. “Look, if you want, I’ll tell Sam what happened.”

But Daenerys shook her head. “No. I will. It’s the least I can do.”

Jon nodded, accepting and approving the idea. Then he decided to change the subject.

“Is Rhaegal alright? I didn’t pull out any of his spikes, did I?”

To his relief, Daenerys laughed lightly. “No… He’s fine. It’s you I’m worried about. We were quite high up when you fell.”

“Arya told me,” he replied. “But I’m fine, see?” He moved his arms. “Just a little bruised. I’ll be up and about tomorrow, trust me.”

“Good. Apparently the Unsullied have been spotted on the horizon and they should be here by midday tomorrow,” Daenerys said, moving closer to move a dark curl away from his eye. Their faces were just inches apart, and Jon was able to marvel again at how beautiful she was up close. Jon lifted his hand to gingerly swipe away another stray tear from her cheek. He stared into her stunning amethyst eyes for what seemed like ages before she moved away again.

“You should get some rest,” she said gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Jon echoed, and as Daenerys left, he realised just how tired he was.

Instead of the usual nightmares about the White Walkers or the Night King that had taken to possessing him every night, all Jon could dream about that night was Daenerys’ gentle smile and Arya teasing the both of them as spring sunshine shone down on them all. Perhaps the future wasn’t so bleak after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading!  
> I know this chapter was a bit dialogue-heavy but I’m hoping you guys won’t mind since it involved a lot of our favourite ship. The next chapter is going to involve jumping ahead a bit, with Jon, Dany, Arya etc. arriving at Winterfell. It will be in Arya’s POV.  
> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter as your reviews do mean a lot and they act as a powerful motivator! (Not to mention that they sometimes give me ideas on things to include.)  
> Thanks for reading again.


	15. Chapter 15 - Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted to Fanfiction.net!
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES
> 
> In this chapter, the group head back to Winterfell...

As soon as Jon had rested enough to be up and about, things had moved pretty quickly. The Unsullied had arrived, the tents had been taken down and put away, and they had all begun to march towards the Kingsroad, where they were to meet up with the remainder of Daenerys’ forces – the Dothraki. In fact, much to Daenerys and Jon’s chagrin, and Arya’s amusement, they had moved so slowly that the Dothraki were already waiting for them. Then they had changed direction and begun to head even further north on the Kingsroad, towards Arya’s old home.

The three dragons flew high overhead as they rode. Arya wondered if Sansa, still a few days’ ride away in Winterfell, could see them. And she wondered how she felt.

Every time Arya had thought about Sansa over the last few years, her differing emotions had conflicted her to the point of frustration. Try as she might, Arya never could forget what her sister had been like the last time they had been together – lovesick, and blind to Joffrey’s cruelty. The way she had stood next to him and Cersei at the Sept of Baelor as their father and rock was killed, the smug little smile on her face, the pretty dress – she had even copied the Lannister queen’s hairstyle…

But at the same time, she had been a combination of smart, resourceful and lucky to outlive both their parents, Robb, Rickon – even Jon, since he had died once. And that couldn’t count for nothing. Not to mention that Jon had trusted her enough to hold the north for him while he was away.

During the ride, Arya channelled her spare energy into remembering everything she could about her sister. She loved fine things and pretty clothes. She loved lemon cakes, though a rare delicacy in the North, given the climate. She wanted nothing more than to be a proper lady. And the things she could create with a length of fabric was almost second to none. She had also seemed to hate Jon, although Arya realised that must have changed. Maybe some of the other things had too.

Arya was suddenly aware of someone else riding very close to her. Gendry.

“Are you ok?” he asked her cautiously, clearly nervous at insinuating that she wasn’t. “It’s not like you to be this unfocused.”

“I am focused,” she retorted, leaning across to give him a light shove – a move she then regretted as he nearly fell off his horse.

“’Course you’re not,” Gendry countered. “You’re going home. How many times have you tried?”

Arya considered this for a moment as they continued moving up the Kingsroad. The first time had been when they met: when she had ended up with Yoren and the Nights Watch recruits. Then she had tried to escape from Harrenhal with the hope of meeting up with her mother and Robb, who she assumed would go back to Winterfell after the war. The Brotherhood had had the same idea. So had the Hound. Trying to get to her aunt Lysa in the Eyrie she decided didn’t count, since the Vale wasn’t home. When she had asked about travelling north before heading to Braavos. She had thought about trying to get home again when she returned but decided against this – she hadn’t known about the Bolton’s defeat then and her main goal had been killing Cersei. And now…

“This is the sixth,” she confessed once she had worked it out.

“Exactly,” her friend told her gently. “Can many other people say the same?”

“Gendry,” Arya said. “When did you get so wise?”

He smiled at her. “Growing up in Kings Landing and spending a lot of time on the run, I guess,” he replied. “And a near-death experience always changes you, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Arya nodded in assent. She definitely wasn’t the same spirited little girl who used to run around Winterfell, trying to join in with the boys or hide from Sansa and Septa Mordane. A tiny stab of doubt hit her. What if Sansa hated her even more now? She was always so girly and gracious and, well, flawless. The thought of Arya telling her sister what she had been up to since they had parted made her cringe even more than the prospect of telling Jon had.

Maybe she could just stick close to Jon and Daenerys for a couple of days when they got to Winterfell. It was a known fact that Jon had always been her favourite growing up, so no one would question her. And Arya considered the dragon queen as more than a simple acquaintance. Not friends, necessarily. But more than an informal associate. And there was always Gendry to talk to if things got awkward. And Bran, perhaps. Arya was keen to find out exactly how her crippled little brother had survived the years, too. Besides, hadn’t he given them the warning that the army of walking dead men was getting near the Wall? How did he know? And with that, she was lost in thought again.

As they approached the gates, still on horseback, Jon rode over.

“When we go in, do you want to ride next to me?” he shouted to her over the wind.

Arya considered this for a moment, then shook her head. “I want to go last.”

Jon regarded her as intently as possible, given their arrangement, then shrugged it off. “Ok. Make sure you find me once we’re in though.” And he rode back off to join Daenerys, Tyrion and Ser Davos at the front.

Arya headed towards the back of the group and was swiftly joined again by Gendry. “Why aren’t you further forward? King’s sister and all?” he asked.

She scowled at him. “Why aren’t you?”

“My only connection to this group is being your friend and the blacksmith,” he said patiently as some other men in Stark livery overtook them. “Wouldn’t exactly look right if I rode in front of little Lady Arya!” And then his horse whinnied as he quickly side-stepped to avoid Arya hitting him again.

The two of them carried on throwing insults back and forth until they were right inside Winterfell’s gates. Arya practically threw herself off her horse and gave it to the nearest servant, keen to get closer to the group so that she could hear what was being said but at the same time remain unseen. She knew a formal reunion with Sansa and Bran out here in the open with everyone to see would be awkward. Gendry followed her, although nowhere near as quietly, with the result that Missandei saw them and murmured something in the ear of a man Arya could only assume was Grey Worm. She turned away, not really caring what Daenerys’ entourage thought of her.

“Sansa!” Jon was saying as her enveloped a tall, auburn-haired woman. “It is good to see you.” She could not quite hear her sister’s reply. But she did get a glimpse of her face as Jon extended his hand to Daenerys and introduced them. Sansa was as beautiful as ever, but her eyes were suspicious and seemed to hold the wisdom of a thousand years as she acknowledged the dragon queen and nodded curtly. Jon. Gendry. Sansa. Everyone was wise now. Arya wondered if this was what growing up was really all about.

Bran, however, made Arya feel even more unsettled. He looked older, as he should, but he was very thin and his eyes held a wide, vacant, almost empty look in them. Arya felt a pang as she remembered the little brother she had known and loved as a child, who would climb the walls whenever he could (or couldn’t) get away with it, who was modest, who everyone loved, and who would laugh when he failed at something. Replaced with not even a shadow of his former self.

After a few minutes, Jon, Daenerys, Sansa and everyone else began to make their way into the castle.

“Are you going to join them?” Gendry asked, sounding amused.

“In a minute,” Arya replied. She looked around the grounds and was dismayed to see no familiar faces except Gendry’s. Which naturally caused her to doubt and distrust every new person she saw. She sighed. She supposed that if Jon trusted them then that should be enough for her. Except… Jon might not have the best judgement. He was murdered by people he trusted, after all.

Arya decided not to go straight to the others. She left Gendry by the forge and headed through some of the emptier passages of the castle. Being home was bittersweet. Arya had hoped returning to Winterfell would fix her, make everything go back to normal, like it was before her father died. No such luck. Nothing could ever be the same again, and Arya felt stupid for taking so long to realise it.

Within a few minutes, Arya found herself in the low-lit crypts beneath the castle. It didn’t take her long to find the stone with ‘Eddard Stark’ engraved in the granite. Arya glanced from the inscription to the marble statue and fought back the urge to curl her lip in disgust. The likeness was very inaccurate and poorly done, with the result that the man shown could have been anyone. Arya bit her lip, now fighting back tears. A small part of her had felt bittersweet excitement about seeing her father, even if only in stone. She turned away a little, so that she could face Robb’s and Rickon’s too.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered very softly, not daring herself to say more. For now, Arya had heard a noise and sensed a lone figure approaching her.

“I thought I might find you down here,” a somewhat familiar voice said. Arya turned fully to see Sansa at last, a little taller and the slightest stockier since she had last seen her, but more beautiful than ever with her long auburn hair, deep blue eyes and regal air. Sansa looked a lot more like their mother. The girlish semblance was entirely gone and Arya could tell Jon had been telling the truth. This was not the same Sansa that she had left Winterfell with all that time ago.

“…You did?” Arya said nervously, aware that her sister was now sizing her up.

“Yes,” said Sansa simply. “It’s what Father used to do – do you remember? Whenever he went on a hunt, or to visit another lord, or to carry out justice, he would always come to the crypts first when he returned. And then onto the Godswood.”

“I remember,” Arya replied, turning back to the smooth rock. “Doesn’t look like him. It should have been carved by someone who knew his face.”

Sansa gave a wry smile. “Everyone who knew his face is dead.”

“We’re not,” Arya countered.  
Her sister nodded in assent with another smile, this time a more genuine one. “We’re not.” Then she enveloped Arya in a tight hug. It was a small gesture, but it said a lot. When they broke apart, Sansa had tears in her eyes.

“How did you manage to find Jon?” she asked.

Arya grimaced in the dim light of the crypt. She definitely didn’t want to tell Sansa everything. Especially not yet. “It’s a long story,” she said finally. “I imagine yours is too.”

“Yes, and not a very pleasant one.”

“Mine neither.” Arya shook her head. “But our stories are not over yet.” She took a step closer to her sister. “They say you killed Joffrey. Did you?”

“I wish I had,” Sansa replied, and Arya could not miss the vehement longing in her tone.

“Me too,” she replied flatly. “I was angry when I heard someone else had done it. However long my list got, he was always first.”

“Your list?” Sansa questioned, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised. 'Crap' Arya thought. What a way to be subtle.

She decided to just be honest. “Of people I’m going to kill.”

Sansa gave a nervous laugh and after a few seconds, Arya joined her.

“Who else is on your list?” she asked.

“Most of them are dead already,” she replied with a shrug. It was true. Who was left? The Red Woman. Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr. Ilyn Payne. Compared to list she used to have, the four names didn’t seem like much at all.

Sansa nodded and looked away. Then she looked back at Arya.

“You know Jon’s new company better than I do, clearly,” she said softly. “I know Lord Tyrion to be a good judge of character, but I know not the circumstances under which he became Daenerys’ hand.” Sansa took a step forward. “What do you think of the Mother of Dragons?”

“She’s here with everyone to help with the fight against the dead,” Arya said, shrugging. “And she’s the official Queen of Westeros now. But Jon trusts her, and that’s enough for me.” Arya noticed Sansa looked sad and slightly defeated. “She’s not like Cersei. Trust me.”

“I suppose that will have to do for now,” Sansa conceded. “I find it pretty difficult to trust people, now, anyway… I wonder how Cersei died…”

“I wonder,” Arya echoed lightly, sure that that part of her story would come out sooner rather than later. She didn’t have time to say anything else before Sansa was hugging her again.

“You’re home,” Sansa said fiercely in her ear. “We’re all home and nothing is going to separate us again, especially not those ice monsters north of the Wall.”

Arya smiled as she moved back.

“Now come on,” Sansa said. “Let’s go and join the others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, we’re back at Winterfell.  
> I still have a few more chapters planned out for this story, but I don’t think I will include the actual war with the White Walkers, just before (and maybe after)…  
> Anyway, thanks so much for reading!   
> The next chapter will be in Daenerys’ POV and I will get it out as soon as possible, but it might not be for another couple of weeks. I will try my best. I have now uploaded to here all the chapters that were on Fanfiction.net so instead of posting 4/5 times a day it'll be more like every two weeks.  
> Thanks for reading again, don’t forget to review!


	16. Chapter 16 - Daenerys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net!
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES

Winterfell was very different to how Daenerys had imagined it. Quiet, for one. No scores of people dwelling outside the fortified walls like the stinking masses in Kings Landing, only rolling hills of snow-topped greenery. Jon was right about the castle’s geothermal heating: parts of the place felt hot, as if warmth was radiating through the walls. It was a stark contrast from outside, where snow was falling fast. For a moment, Dany was transported back in time to her vision of the Wall in the House of the Undying. She shuddered at the memory, and the others of the experience that also sprung to mind.

Jon was talking animatedly with Ser Davos, while Ser Jorah seemed to have materialised into thin air. So had Jon’s other sister, Sansa, saying that she was going to find Arya, who had disappeared as soon as they had arrived as well. Therefore, it was Tyrion who gently leaned up to grasp her elbow.

“Are you alright?” he whispered to her as they moved through the castle.

“Yes, I am!” Daenerys replied brightly. After that, she avoided looking out of the windows until she was able to repress the snowy visions. Missandei and Grey Worm were conversing in rapid Valyrian. Jon was laughing at something Ser Davos had said. Even Tyrion threw in the odd quip, despite his obvious anxiety. Yet Dany couldn’t help but feel like she was being watched.

After a couple of minutes, they arrived in a vast room that Daenerys assumed was the Great Hall, owing to the number of tables and chairs. A few servants frantically scurried around carrying plates, silverware, goblets, jugs of wine and various platters and tureens of food. But Dany could tell that this was no lavish feast, there was probably just enough food to adequately feed everyone at Winterfell – no more, no less.

“I hope the girls get here soon,” Jon was fretting. “I don’t want people getting hungry…”

“They’re sisters who haven’t seen each other in years,” Ser Davos countered reasonably. “Give them some time. But I don’t think either of them would truly mind if we started without them.” Luckily this didn’t need to be the case, as Jon then heard rowdy footsteps. Arya burst into the Great Hall and practically ran over to the group, clearly excited at the prospect of the first sizeable meal since leaving White Harbour. Sansa followed her, a lot more sedately, a genuine smile on her face that thinned out and disappeared as she approached them.

“Bran should be here any minute,” she told Jon in a very formal manner. “Maester Wolkan is bringing him.” They all began to huddle around the large table at the back of the Hall, raised slightly to show that it was where the ruler of the North and their family should sit. Daenerys noticed that Tyrion stuck to her like glue, and Sansa did the same with Jon. Missandei and Grey Worm looked stiff and shy as they too sat down. It was Ser Davos and Arya who looked the most natural out of them. A couple of minutes later Bran too was wheeled in. Arya got up, but Daenerys realised, almost hesitantly.

Bran Stark made Dany feel uneasy. Those guileless eyes, devoid of any emotion but somehow able to bore into one’s very soul. Daenerys had the sinking feeling that he could read minds. This didn’t seem to matter as much to Arya who went over and gave her younger brother an awkward hug.

“Nice chair,” Arya said softly.

“Maester Wolkan had it built for me, so that I can move around more easily,” Bran replied tonelessly. Dany saw Arya’s eyes flicker with pain, clearly this was not the boy she had grown up with.

“It’s a good idea,” Arya nodded.

“You came home,” Bran said, again with no expression. “I saw you on the ship back to Westeros.”

Arya frowned and she looked a little hurt. “You saw me?”

Bran inclined his head ever so slightly. “I see quite a lot now.”

“Bran has… visions,” Sansa said, by way of explanation. Daenerys could see that she too was a bit unnerved. “He’s a greenseer, and he knows everything.”

Jon’s eyebrows furrowed, yet Arya appeared remarkably unaffected, instead giving her brother a respectful nod.

“Not exactly the knight you wanted to be then,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

“No, not exactly,” Bran said.

Daenerys noticed Sansa fretting. “Does anyone know where Baelish is?”

Jon shook his head, but Arya made an exaggerated noise of disgust. “He’s here?”

“He’s declared for House Stark,” Sansa replied, grimacing, though Dany barely noticed her. Her attention was back on Bran, whose eyes had rolled so far back in his head that there was nothing but white.

“A warg,” Tyrion observed. “Or a greenseer? I’ve read about them. I didn’t know they were real, though. Although, I didn’t know dragons were real until I saw them for myself.” Daenerys glanced back at Jon, who was watching his younger brother with silent interest.

Before too long, Bran bent his head forward, and when he looked up his eyes were back to normal.

“It takes me longer to have visions inside the castle,” he explained tonelessly to everyone as they stared at him. “I find it easier in the Godswood.”

“What did you see?” Sansa asked him, and Dany could tell that even if her brother’s ability unnerved her, it also intrigued her.

“Littlefinger is in his room, but he didn’t look too happy. Varys is snooping around outside, close to the Dothraki. I don’t think either of them know that the other is here yet. Sam is reading in the library with Gilly. And Brienne is on patrol with Podrick.” Daenerys could only blink at the mention of all the new names. All people she would have to work with. Potentially people who would hate her.

“Podrick?” Tyrion asked, suddenly smiling. “A happy reunion is due. He’s a good lad.” Dany could now vaguely remember hearing the name before, from one of Tyrion’s many drunken ramblings about Kings Landing.

Sansa Stark smiled thinly. “He is Brienne’s squire.”

Tyrion smiled too. “Of course. And how are you, Lady Sansa? I see you managed to return home.”

“I am well enough, thank you, my lord,” she replied, ever regal and courteous. Almost queen-like, Daenerys reflected, and giving nothing away. “And yourself? I’m glad that neither your father nor your sister were able to murder you.”

“They did their best, between them,” Tyrion sighed. “A peculiar turn of events.” He then turned his attention to his meal. Dany did the same, but not before once again looking at Jon, who had been watching Sansa and Tyrion’s exchange with curiosity.

Daenerys’ Hand had told her that he had been married to Sansa Stark against both of their wishes. A sham marriage, Tyrion had called it. Therefore Dany was quite surprised to see them conversing so pleasantly. She could assume that their relationship was built on a need to survive and escape.

Most of the rest of the meal was spent deciding on what to do next. Sansa spoke of sending ravens, before the snows became much worse, which Missandei very tentatively agreed with, earning herself a small smile from the older Stark girl. Arya spoke of Valyrian steel, making weapons and beginning to train children. A task which Grey Worm, for all his apparent reservations about Arya, agreed with, with a curt nod. Tyrion suggested stockpiling food supplies and seemed genuinely proud of Sansa when she told him that she had already started this in Jon’s absence. Eventually, Jon said that there should be a meeting the next day, with the other lords and ladies in the North present. Throughout, Bran had another two or three visions. Between them, he would stare expressionlessly at people, which made Dany feel even more on edge, as she wondered what Bran could possibly know about her.

“Perhaps it would be better if Daenerys Targaryen’s companions had a table to themselves,” he said ominously towards the end.

“Why?” Arya demanded. “This is an alliance!” Daenerys, now feeling very nervous, felt glad that Arya had defended her.

“Some people are scared to see each other again,” Bran said simply, oblivious to the edge of his sister’s voice. “Wolves. Lions. Bears. Even dragons, among others.” Then he wheeled himself out.

“I don’t see any lions here to be scared of,” Tyrion quipped. “Unless my father has been turned into one of these walking dead men.” Jon chuckled, but looked worried, clearly trying to work out the cryptic message.

“I don’t know what he means,” Sansa said seriously. “Bran has told me many times that he cannot see the future.”

“Sounds like rubbish,” Arya said hotly. “Why would us wolves be scared to see each other again? We’re family!”

“And I am the last dragon,” Dany said very quietly.

“Exactly!” Arya continued, though she barely glanced at her. “What happened to him, Sansa?” The pain in her voice was palpable.

“I don’t know,” Sansa replied, looking troubled. “As you can imagine, he gave very vague answers when I asked him. But I mean it when I say he knows everything.”

“Everything?” Jon repeated.

“Everything,” Sansa emphasised. “Shortly after he came home, we sat down together one evening and he recited my entire life story. Everything. Events since I left Winterfell, things we used to talk about when we were little that I had long forgotten, private conversations – everything. The only good thing about his state is that he doesn’t usually give his own opinion.”

The table went very quiet after that.

“Well, I don’t mean to be rude but I’m shattered,” Arya said later as a few servants began to start clearing away plates. “Do I still have the same room?”

“Yes,” Sansa replied. “I figured you would want that.”

“Then I’ll see you all tomorrow,” Arya said, moving around the table to hug both Sansa and Jon. She then stiffly curtsied to Daenerys, but with a grin, before leaving the hall.

“I imagine you are all exhausted after your journey,” Sansa continued smoothly after her sister had left. “I will show you to your rooms.”

It turned out Winterfell was slowly filling up with people fleeing south and other lords and ladies. Tyrion agreed to share with Varys and Grey Worm made it still easier when he insisted on sleeping outside with the rest of the Unsullied. Once this had been sorted, the depleting group made their way around the castle until it was just Sansa, Jon and Dany left. Jon had asked Daenerys if she wanted Lady Catelyn’s old rooms, since they were the warmest, but Dany then thought of her friend, who had too spent her entire life in Essos. Daenerys couldn’t help but notice the way Sansa scrutinised her and Jon’s interaction and it made her feel a little uncomfortable, even though it shouldn’t have.

“Is there anything else you require this evening, Your Grace?” Sansa asked politely as they stopped walking half way down a corridor.

“I don’t think so, no, thank you, both of you, for your hospitality,” Daenerys said genuinely, starting to really feel tired. She felt a little nervous about the meeting tomorrow, meeting new people and having to defend herself against the people who doubted her. The only glimmers of hope would be spending time with Jon, even with everyone else present, and perhaps another training session with Dark Sister with Arya.

Sansa inclined her head. “You are welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, good night.” She turned to leave. “Coming, Jon?”

“In a minute,” Jon said hesitantly, and Dany thought he looked a bit nervous. “I’ll meet you in the solar.” Sansa gave him a searching look, then left, her footsteps barely audible on the stone floors.

“Are you alright?” Dany and Jon asked each other at the same time. Jon smiled at her to answer first.

“I am okay,” she replied, looking up at him. It was strange: Jon was back at Winterfell, yet he didn’t look at home. “Anxious a bit, for tomorrow.” She didn’t know why she added this last part, but it felt right to be honest.

“Aren’t we all,” Jon said dryly. “I’ve been thinking, a bit, on what Bran said, about people being scared to see one another again. I think I’ve cracked part of it. Ser Jorah Mormont is loyal to you, but his cousin, Lady Lyanna of Bear Island, is loyal to me. She’s fierce, and blunt, and always says exactly what she thinks. Do you think that will cause problems?”

“Perhaps,” Dany replied thoughtfully after thinking about it. “From what I know, Jorah isn’t particularly great at standing up for himself. I would hope, being family, that they would find some common ground, though.”

“You don’t need to be afraid,” Jon said suddenly. “About tomorrow.”

“I’m not,” she assured him. “Just a little uneasy.”

“You’ll have all of your people with you,” Jon said. “Arya will root for you, so will Davos, so will I. And if I do, a few of the lords and ladies will, including Lyanna. Sam will. Tormund, representing the wildlings, definitely will since you are helping us. Only a few of them will dare to insult you or doubt you. It won’t be too bad.”

“I’m used to being insulted and doubted,” Dany reminded. “I have been most of my life, all across Essos and here.” She couldn’t help but smile at Jon’s concern. “I’ll be fine, like you say.”

“I’m sorry, for that,” he said, and unexpectedly reached out and pulled her into a gentle embrace. Dany, for all her tiredness, relaxed into him, breathing in the calming scent of pine and leather, the gentle tickle of Jon’s beard and hair making her smile. For just a moment she could forget everything, the enemies she would soon have to face, the fear of the threat north of the Wall, Sansa’s suspicious frown or Bran’s deadpan stare. She could breathe and just be.

When they broke apart, Jon gently caressed her cheek.

“Eyelash,” he said, but kept doing it. Dany tentatively ran her hands through his dark curls. She didn’t know why she felt so nervous. It may have been a more intimate gesture, but she was comfortable with Jon and she had been with other men. But she had to admit to herself that Jon was the first to make her stomach flutter with a smile, or have her heart beating at a hundred times a minute as they hugged. And they had been through so much. Daenerys realised that she didn’t just like him because he was handsome (although she couldn’t deny that he was) but because he was everything that she thought a good man should be.

With this in mind, Dany slowly leaned forward and pressed her forehead to Jon’s, their noses gently brushing and their lips just centimetres apart. His hands gently moved down and rested on her back, rubbing comforting circles. After a few moments, Dany moved her head to look at him. They stared at each other for what seemed like forever, hearts racing. Then, Jon very softly pressed his lips to hers.

It was a gentle and long-lasting kiss. Daenerys felt like every neuron in her brain was convulsing with nervous activity, but she could only smile as she kissed him back. Finally. After so long of running rings around each other, of being teased by advisors and siblings alike, after all of the conversations in which they had grown so much closer… Dany curled her fists around Jon’s neck, leaning into him as much as she could. It was difficult to say how long they stayed like this, but he never pushed her for more. Jon’s hands moved reverently, running through her hair and over her face, never anywhere else.

When they eventually broke apart, it was to Jon’s broad grin and Dany felt so giddy and so wonderfully light she had to stifle a giggle.

“I don’t know about you, but I feel like that was very much overdue,” Jon said tenderly, gently caressing the outline of her face.

“It was overdue,” Daenerys laughed back. “I treasure you very much, Jon Snow. I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to realise it.”

“I have… a very deep affection for you, as well,” Jon said, now very seriously. “Part of it scares me, since we have only known one another for a few weeks. But how could I not? You’re so strong, and smart, and you care so much about everyone.”

“I think you are the strong one,” Daenerys replied softly. “Look at what you’ve been through and what you’ve become. Every time I hear something new about you, it never fails to amaze me.”

“You never fail to amaze me,” Jon said playfully, kissing her forehead. “And I don’t think you ever will.”

“That is sweet of you to say,” Dany said.

Jon anxiously glanced behind him. “I would love to stay here with you a while longer,” he said honestly, looking contrite. “But I told Sansa I would meet her in the solar, and I already think she is sceptical enough.”

“That is true,” Daenerys conceded, though a little reluctantly. “I would like to get along with Sansa, as well as Arya.”

“You will, in time,” Jon told her. “But I can tell you for a fact that Sansa won’t ever be blindly loyal or trustful again, not even if I am. She’s been hurt too much, and she’s learnt from it all. All I can do is tell her honestly of the things I have done and seen since I last left this place.”

Dany smiled at him tenderly. “I will see you tomorrow,” she said.

Jon took her hand and kissed it. “And I you. Goodnight, Daenerys.”

“Goodnight, Jon.” She smiled like a lovesick fool as he made his way back along the stone passageway.

It was only as Dany entered her new room and shut the door that a horrible thought entered her mind. 'Bran can see everything' she remembered. 'And if he didn’t just see that, he will soon.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet? Quite possibly. Yay, Jonerys is a thing now! Sort of…  
> Sorry it’s taken me a little while to get this out. Only one more week of college until Easter break though, so hopefully then my updates will be a bit more frequent.  
> Thank you very much for reading! Don’t forget to review since your comments do mean the world.  
> Thanks again for reading. My next chapter will be in Jon’s POV and I will get it out asap. I don’t think it will feature the meeting (that’ll get saved for Arya), since I think it is time Jon found out something, if you know what I mean…  
> Until next time.


	17. Chapter 17 - Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES

That first night back at Winterfell was probably the best night’s sleep Jon had had in years, with not a single dream of icy horrors to wake him. His limbs still felt like jelly, from both the fall and from the events of the night before. His lips still tingled where Daenerys had kissed him, the image of her gentle smile, the way her hair fell over her shoulders and the way her violet eyes melted as she looked at him firmly engraved into his long term memory. Therefore, Jon was the lightest and most refreshed he had ever felt when he awoke the following morning.

The meeting, it had been decided, would not be held until the afternoon, so Jon decided to wander around the castle and catch up with some of its new and old inhabitants. He decided to go to the Great Hall first, thinking perhaps his siblings or some other members of Daenerys’ group would have started heading there in search of breakfast. But in the end, Jon didn’t get ten paces out of his room before Sansa came running towards him, a look of pure panic on her usually composed features.

“Jon! Come quickly,” she said urgently.

Following her at a fast pace down the stairs, he asked, “Why?”

“Arya and the dragon queen look like they’re trying to kill each other!”

He looked at her sharply. “What? Why?”

“I don’t know!” came the reply. “But they’re in the yard with swords!”

“Right,” Jon said, striding in the direction purposefully. However, he didn’t feel too worried. He knew the two of them got on reasonably well, and knew Arya was anxious to start training people in combat in preparation for the war to come. But at the same time, he feared a little for Daenerys. As far as he knew, she was inexperienced with wielding the weaponry, while Arya was as boisterous with a blade as she was deadly. Plus, if many other people saw them, they might get the wrong idea that Daenerys was attacking Arya, potentially putting the idea with an alliance with the North for her in jeopardy.

Jon went to stand over the courtyard and surveyed the scene below. He saw that Sansa had over-exaggerated somewhat: while the two young women were fighting, there was nothing vicious about it. Daenerys was staggering somewhat with the effort of holding up what looked like a Valyrian steel sword; clumsily trying to swing in the general direction of Arya. Arya was being more patient than Jon had thought she could possibly be, yet easily deflecting every ponderous blow. Jon now assumed this must be what the two of them had been up to when they had spent all that time alone together at Dragonstone. He tried his best not to smile. Of course.

Quite a large crowd had now gathered to watch the two of them spar. Jon’s eyes wandered to Sansa, who was still quietly fretting, to Brienne, who stood watching with fascination, one hand gently curled around the pommel of her own blade, to Missandei, who looked to be concerned for Daenerys’ safety. Jon had just begun to focus back on the practice in the yard when a slight figure approached him.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” the cool, formal voice came, and Jon turned to see Lyanna Mormont looking up at him. “I am glad to see you returned and well.”

“And you, my lady,” Jon replied politely, smiling down at her serious little face. “I take it you have been informed about the meeting?”

“Yes, and I look forward to it,” she said. “It is nice to see another Stark has returned home. I look forward to meeting Lady Arya,” she added, nodding towards the fight.

Jon gave her a small smile. “I don’t think she’d appreciate you calling her a lady.” And he could have sworn Lyanna smiled back.

“Your Grace, I had to ask you something,” she started, almost nervously. “Before the meeting, where everyone else will be. I wanted to know for sure…”

“Go ahead, my lady,” Jon said courteously. “What is it you want to know?”

“I wanted to know if there is anyone in the new alliance group that you truly trust,” she said, peering at him meticulously.

Jon sighed, a part of him surprised that he hadn’t anticipated this before. “I trust them enough to see the Long Night through.”

Lyanna nodded respectfully. “I had a feeling you might say that. And I must say, the Mother of Dragons certainly has the determination to learn something new.” She looked away from Jon and back to the spar. Daenerys was now visibly tired, and Jon could see that Arya was starting to go easier on her. “I wish I could do that with a sword,” Lady Mormont added admiringly.

“I bet Arya would teach you if you asked her,” Jon said. “She’s keen for everyone to train and prepare.”

Another tiny smile appeared on the lady’s face. “I prefer a bow and arrow.”

They watched the scene for a few moments more, before Lyanna turned away.

“I should go,” she said. “I take my leave, Your Grace. I’ll see you at the meeting this afternoon.”

“Wait!” Jon said, remembering. “Something you should know, my lady. One of Queen Daenerys’ advisors is Ser Jorah Mormont. Your cousin, I believe.”

Lyanna nodded thoughtfully. “Interesting,” she said. “Very interesting.” She must have noticed Jon’s nervous look. “Don’t worry – I won’t say anything that’ll make things awkward. Not in public, anyway.”

Then she left.

Jon looked back to the spar. Daenerys’ face was flushed and red, but she was not giving up. The sword looked far too heavy for her and Jon started to worry: she was trying to keep up with Arya’s experienced style and failing. With this realisation, Jon headed down the nearest stairs and made his way over to them.

“That’ll do, won’t it?” he said in greeting. “You both look exhausted!” This was a lie, of course, for Arya looked as though she had barely lifted a finger.

His sister was glowing with praise. “You did so well!” she said to the dragon queen. “You’ll be as good as any soldier in no time!”

Daenerys shook her head, but smiled nonetheless. “Thank you.” She then appeared to notice the gawking crowd and looked a little embarrassed. “There was no one out here when we started,” she said, quietly enough so that only Jon and Arya could here.

“Breakfast time?” Jon suggested a little louder, and some people started to turn away.

“Wait!” Arya hissed, turning to one side and looking around. “Bran and Sam are coming!” Jon barely had time to register Daenerys’ expression of anxiety before he too noticed Bran approaching in his chair, Sam puffing and panting with the effort of pushing him. When they were close, Sam gently slowed Bran’s chair and made an awkward bow to the three of them.

“Your Grace,” he mumbled, looking terrified, to Daenerys, who looked equally uncomfortable. “My la- Arya.” He looked at Jon. “Your Grace.”

“Oh, come off it Sam,” Jon chuckled, hugging Sam and clapping him on the back. “You don’t need to say that to me!”

Sam laughed nervously. “How are you Jon?”

Jon grinned. “Well enough. Tell me about you! It sounds like you have had quite the adventure.”

“The Citadel was not as great as I imagined,” Sam said, shrugging his shoulders. “It was a disappointment and absolutely ridiculous, what they had me doing. I was re-writing histories and diaries of better men, all while the secrets to defeating the Night King were probably lying on some dusty shelf in the restricted section fading away. I thought I would be of far more use to you here, and I heard that you had taken back Winterfell, so I came here.”

“How’s Gilly?”

“She and Little Sam are well. They’re here too.”

Jon nodded. “I’m sorry you changed your mind about being a Maester. You were so excited about it.”

Sam shrugged again. “They refused to take the threat north of the Wall seriously. They didn’t believe me.”

Jon sighed. “I’ve been having troubles like that of late.”

Sam smiled again nervously.

“Jon, I need to discuss a matter with you,” Bran said tonelessly. “It is important.”

Jon looked at him carefully. “Very well. Is this something that can be said in front of Arya and Queen Daenerys? And Sansa?”

“No –” Bran started to say, but Sam interrupted him.

“Why not?” he retorted. “It’s Jon’s choice. Besides, everyone will probably find out soon, anyway!”

“What?” said Arya.

“Uh, yeah,” Jon said, his mind a whirl.

Sam started fretting. “Someone will need to get Lady Sansa –”

“I’ll go and find Sansa,” Arya said with the subtlest of edges to her voice. She moved away from Jon to give Bran a hard look. “Whatever it is, wait for us.” Bran only inclined his head by an inch.

“What about me?” Daenerys said quietly. “This seems like more of a personal matter.”

“It’s fine,” Jon said, surprised that she was even asking. “We’re allies. Besides –” he nodded back at his brother – “Bran gave us invaluable information about the Night King through Sansa’s letter. There’s nothing not worth knowing at this stage.”

“This isn’t about the Night King,” Bran said impassively, and began to wheel himself back towards the castle. Jon exchanged a bewildered glance with Daenerys before looking at Sam, who just looked awkward and uneasy. Feeling a little nervous himself, he went past both of them and went to push Bran’s chair.

Never before had Jon truly appreciated just how many stairs there were in Winterfell, as he pushed Bran up them, as gentle as possible so that he wouldn’t fall out of the chair. After a couple of flights, he felt so out of breath that he almost didn’t hear the tentative conversation behind him.

“Are you alright, Your Grace?” Sam asked gently. “You are looking a little worried.”

“I am fine, thank you,” Daenerys replied. “Samwell, isn’t it? I hear you did wonderful work on Ser Jorah. I must thank you, he is a great friend of mine.”

“It was nothing,” Sam said modestly, but Jon could not miss the faint pride in his voice. “Is he still well?”

“He is strong,” Daenerys told him. “In fact, he is here, although I expect he is staying close to the Dothraki. He is working closely with them.”

“It will be nice to see him again.”

By this time, the small group had finally reached the top of the stairs and were heading towards Jon’s solar. Arya and Sansa were not yet there.

“Are you alright, Jon?” Sam laughed. “You weren’t struggling with Bran there, were you?”

“Lifting was never my strength,” Jon replied, trying his best not to wheeze. Remembering the old stable-boy, he turned back to his unsmiling younger brother. “What happened to Hodor?”

“He’s dead.” There wasn’t even a hint of remorse in Bran’s deadpan features.

“Did you burn his body?” Sam asked him. “He was the tall one, wasn’t he? We wouldn’t want him coming back.”

“We were attacked by wights while north of the Wall,” Bran said. “There was no time for us to burn his body, I didn’t actually see what happened because I was unconscious – I was becoming the Three-Eyed Raven.”

Jon scoffed. “The Three-Eyed what?”

Bran smiled mirthlessly. “It’s difficult to explain.” Thus, Jon ascertained that he probably wouldn’t bother to explain.

The room was awkwardly silent for a few seconds.

“Sam?” Daenerys said hesitantly after a few seconds. “I have to tell you something.” Jon couldn’t help but be surprised again. She had told him that she was going to confess to Sam about her involvement in the deaths of his father and brother, but Jon had not expected her to do it straight away.

“A few weeks ago, there was a battle at Blackwater Rush,” Daenerys said, he voice strong but her discomfort evident. “Your father’s men betrayed House Tyrell and were fighting for the Lannisters. After the battle, I…” Her voice faltered, and her eyes fell.

“We already know what happened to Randyll and Dickon Tarly,” Bran said after a few seconds. “I saw the Loot Train Attack and what happened afterwards.”

Daenerys looked Sam in the eye. “I am sorry for what I did to them,” she said very softly.

Sam nodded. “I forgive you. I was not particularly close with them, and I disliked my father very much. Plus, Bran saw your conversation with Jon about it, and told me how… upset you were. We’ll say no more about it.”

Daenerys nodded too, and then the door banged open and Sansa and Arya entered.

“You all look very serious,” Arya said accusingly. “I did ask you to wait for us.”

“We did,” Jon said, as his sisters moved in and sat down. He noticed the two of them barely glanced at each other as they sat down. He also noticed that Sansa sat opposite him, near Bran and Sam, as far away from Daenerys as possible, while Arya happily plonked herself down next to the dragon queen, who smiled at her in greeting. 'Quarrelling already' Jon thought.

“So what is all this about, Bran?” Sansa asked. “What was so important that you had to wait for Jon, rather than telling me when you came home?”

“It is about Jon, my lady,” Sam explained to her, while Jon’s curiosity heightened. “Therefore we thought he should be told of our discoveries first. And we didn’t want to assume that he would want other people to know straight away.”

“Go on then,” Arya said, glancing Jon’s way. “Get on with it. This important discovery – is Jon secretly a dragon or something? I always thought he was a bit scary-looking. Or a demon?”

Jon laughed and ruffled her hair, finding it difficult to be anxious while Arya was there.

“Are you trying to imply that dragons are scary-looking?” Daenerys asked innocently.

“Oh yeah,” Arya said breezily. “Especially the human ones. Scarier than Drogon, you are.” Daenerys laughed and so did Jon.

“This is serious,” Sam said.

“Sorry,” Arya said. “I’ll shut up now. Daenerys, you’re not bad. Jon, you’re not a demon.” She sat up straight in her chair. “Go on.”

Sam and Bran exchanged glances, which made Jon’s stomach flip again.

“The thing is, Jon,” Sam said, and Jon had never seen his friend look so terrified. Not when he first joined the Nights Watch, not when they went north of the Wall for the first time, not even when the wildings attacked Castle Black. “With Bran’s ability to see everything that has ever happened, and the information I have learned from transcribing various important documents at the Citadel, we have found out a lot of information about the world. And a lot about you.”

Jon’s mouth felt dry. “Like what?”

“You once told me that you didn’t know who your mother was,” Sam said. “Well, if you want to know, myself and Bran can tell you.”

“You know who she is?” Jon felt a rush of excitement. “I once asked Father if she was alive, or if she knew about me. He wouldn’t even tell me that.”

“Jon… she’s not alive. She died giving birth to you. But she knew about you, definitely. Bran saw her, and saw you as a baby.”

“Oh…” Some part of Jon had been hoping he would be finally given a name, someone to track down and contact. He had envisaged travelling miles to meet her, to finally hugging her, and learning about who she was.

“I’m sorry,” Daenerys said to him, moving to squeeze his hand. Jon barely noticed Sansa’s raised eyebrows as he remembered that Queen Rhaella had met the same fate.

“What… what was her name?” he managed eventually.

“We didn’t just learn the truth of your mother,” Sam said gently, evading the question. “But of your father as well.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa asked. “Jon’s father wasn’t a truth to uncover. Everyone knows he was our father’s bastard.”

Sam looked uncomfortable again, and nodded to Bran. “I think Bran is better for being direct.”

“You are not a bastard, Jon,” Bran said. “You never were. Eddard Stark lied to the entire world to protect you.”

Arya snorted. “Who the seven hells is he, then?”

“The thing is, Arya was actually right when she said in jest that Jon is secretly a dragon. His –” Sam went to explain further but Bran cut him off.

“Jon, your parents were Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. You were born in the Tower of Joy in Dorne. Ned managed to get there in time before she died, and she made him promise to protect you. She told him that your real name was Aegon Targaryen. Sam transcribed the High Septon’s personal diary whilst at the Citadel, and found out that he married them in a secret ceremony in Dorne.”

It was so silent in the room after Bran finished speaking that it was almost loud. Jon’s head and heart hurt, his chest burning while his face and hands froze. Not a bastard. Not even Ned’s son. The siblings he grew up with were really his cousins. And Daenerys… a new friend, potential love interest – his aunt…

Arya was the first to speak. “I don’t suppose you can take us in a vision to prove it, Bran?”

“No,” Bran said, and went on to explain something else, but Jon was not listening. His heart now thumping in his chest so fast he felt dizzy. Sansa was saying something about not telling the rest of the lords of the North until after the Long Night, but telling Davos as soon as possible.

After a few minutes, Arya poked him in the side.

“I don’t care what they just said,” she said fiercely. “You’re still my brother. You’ll always be my brother. Alright?”

“Yes. Yes…” Not looking at anyone or anything, Jon walked out and didn’t stop until he reached the Godswood, where he finally slumped somewhere he knew he wouldn’t be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this was probably the hardest chapter to write. (I know I say this every time. But I mean it!)  
> Jon finding out his true heritage is something I’m really looking forward to in season eight, and I really didn’t want to do what will surely be an epic scene a disservice in this fic. Let me know what you guys think!  
> The next few chapters will be everyone ascertaining an opinion on this news. I don’t want to spoil my own work, but Jonerys shippers shouldn’t feel the need to worry too much.  
> Thanks so much for reading again, your continued support of this fic and your reviews really do mean the world.  
> The next chapter will be in Arya’s POV. Until next time.


	18. Chapter 18 - Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net!
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES

Arya was unsurprised at Jon’s sudden exit. Her head hurt too. Of course Jon would still be her brother. He was still her brother, in everything but name. But the reality of it rendered her speechless. Jon was her cousin, but far more than that. A trueborn Targaryen. He was the real heir to the Iron Throne. Not that that mattered at the moment, with the Long Night looming.

She figured the others must have finally realised this too.

“This could cause problems,” Sansa said. “What of the Iron Throne?”

“Who cares about that!” Arya shot back at once. She didn’t want Sansa to pick a fight with Daenerys. Not over Jon. And not now, when they all needed each other. “We can all worry about politics and statuses and thrones and titles and all of that when the walking zombies north of the Wall have been defeated.” This did not stop Sansa glaring at the dragon queen.

“I agree with Arya,” Daenerys said after a minute. This surprised Arya: she had always seemed so driven. She looked at her. “I made you a promise when you came to Dragonstone, saying that I had no intention of harming your brother. I intend to uphold that promise.”

“He’s not our brother,” Sansa said quietly. “He’s our cousin.”

“He’s our brother,” Arya said harshly. “He’s been as good as brother to us as any!”

“Bran and Sam will need to tell Ser Davos everything,” Sansa carried on, as though Arya had said nothing. “I will go and find him.” She did not acknowledge Daenerys as she left.

“I’m going to find my documents,” Sam said shyly. “I made a copy of the passage detailing Rhaegar and Lyanna’s wedding.” He bowed before dashing out towards the library.

“Are you sure you can’t take us in a vision to prove it?” Arya said to Bran.

“Positive,” her brother replied. He turned his head a fraction to stare at Daenerys. “You have had visions before, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Daenerys confirmed. “In the House of the Undying.”

“Really?” Arya asked, intrigued. “Like Bran’s?”

“No,” she answered. “It was difficult to say what I saw. It was more of a hallucination, really. Definitely not real. I saw my dead husband. I saw the Iron Throne. I saw the Wall, at least, I think I did. Amongst other things…”

“The past, the present and the future, maybe?” Arya suggested. “Your… husband was in the past. You’re on the Iron Throne, now. And we’re going north of the Wall soon, which is in the future.”

Daenerys smiled at her. “Perhaps.”

“I might go and find Jon,” Arya said, standing up.

“He’s in the Godswood,” said Bran. “I don’t think he wants to be disturbed.”

“Maybe he does need time to process things,” Daenerys told her gently. She looked at Bran. “Any other details?”

“Not on him,” Bran said. “But Tyrion is looking for you.”

“Unsurprising,” Arya said, grinning at her. “He probably knows by now that we sparred. He’ll probably be furious with me.”

“With both of us,” Daenerys smiled back. “I should go and find him before he gets too vexed and tries to talk me out of an alliance.” She left too.

“Can you trust Queen Daenerys to not tell Lord Tyrion what has just been discussed?” Bran’s voice made Arya turn back around.

“Obviously,” she snapped. “Surely your little visions will tell you that she and Jon are friends. Besides, she’s on the Iron Throne, and it’s not something Jon would be willing to pursue. He didn’t even want to be King in the North.”

Bran just looked at her reflectively, making her feel even more irritated.

“That is true,” he said eventually. “But Arya, I have seen everything. Your life. Jon, or Aegon’s life. Daenerys' life. Sansa’s life. Even my own. But I cannot see the future.”

“Well that’s not particularly helpful, I suppose.”

“Therefore I cannot tell how anyone is going to react to this news.”

“It would have been better if you’d waited until after the Long Night to drop this bombshell on Jon,” Arya grumbled.

“I do not know who, if anyone, will survive,” Bran replied impassively. “He had to know about it.” He then surprised her by pulling out a gilded dagger from the pocket of his cloak.

“Where did you get this?” Arya asked.

“Littlefinger gave it to me,” he replied, the name making Arya’s stomach curdle with disgust. “He thought I’d want it.”

“Why?”

“Because it was meant to kill me,” he said solemnly, drawing the blade and examining its point.

“That’s Valyrian steel,” Arya said admiringly. “I remember, in Kings Landing, somewhere I heard something about a cutthroat, after your fall…” She thought about it for a minute. “But why would a cutthroat have a Valyrian steel dagger?”

“Someone very wealthy wanted me dead,” he said impassively. “I told Sansa about it, after he gave it to me. She told me – unnecessarily, due to my visions – that he wouldn’t have given it to me unless he thought he was getting something back.”

“That sounds about right,” Arya sighed. “It’s Littlefinger. I still can’t believe he’s here.”

“But it doesn’t matter, because I don’t want it,” Bran continued, sheathing the dagger, and holding it out to her. “Take it, you’ll do better with it. I’ve seen you fight, and this thing’s wasted on a cripple.”

“Are you sure?” Arya asked quietly, surprised at the sudden gift. “It’s Valyrian steel. Besides, you might need to protect yourself at some point during the Long Night.”

He shook his head, and Arya gently took the dagger from him.

“Thank you,” she said. “Perhaps we should ask Maester Wolkan to make you another chair, this time made of sharp-edged Valyrian steel.” It was a bad jest, but to Arya’s delight and astonishment, Bran smiled.

“I’m going now,” she said after a minute. “Do you want me to wheel you anywhere?”

“No,” Bran replied. “I will stay here a little longer.” Arya nodded, and then departed, clipping the new dagger into her belt as she did so.

By this time, there was only about half an hour left before the big meeting was due to start, and Arya worried for Jon. Would he even attend? Would he feel the need to be truthful with the other lords, and tell them about his newfound knowledge? How would they react? Arya did not know. She wanted to find Jon, comfort him, reassure him that she and Sansa and Bran would still be there for him. She also worried a little about Daenerys and hoped her fears were unfounded. Bran had said that Jon was in the Godswood, and Arya had every intention of finding him before Sansa or any of the others could.

She didn’t get far before she found her sister hurrying the other way.

“I’ve just told Ser Davos,” she said quietly, pulling Arya to one side so that no one would hear them.

“How did he take it?”

“Well, rightly surprised, of course. But I think we can still count on his support.”

“Good.”

Then Sansa’s mouth twisted. “What was that dragon girl doing there though? Surely Sam made it clear that this was a personal matter?”

Arya stared at her for a minute incredulously. “Careful, now. That dragon girl is the Queen of Westeros, minus the North.” She sighed. “C’mon, Sansa. You’ve got to admit that she’s better than Cersei. The only reason she was there was because Jon said it was alright for her to be there. Daenerys even acknowledged that it was personal. She and Jon are friends, Sansa – why can’t you see that?”

She sniffed. “Will they remain friends, though, given what has happened? Jon is the trueborn son of Rhaegar and Lyanna, meaning his claim on the Iron Throne is far stronger than hers.”

“It doesn’t take half a brain to work out that Jon wouldn’t do anything towards taking the throne from Daenerys,” Arya sighed, using every ounce of effort not to raise her voice in frustration. “And even if he did, they’re family. Daenerys wanted to restore the Iron Throne to House Targaryen, and she’s done it. It’s not going to be a problem, and anyway, we have bigger things to worry about with the oncoming threat from beyond the Wall.”

“Do you really think she’s trustworthy?” Sansa pressed.

“Yes,” Arya said. “Why don’t you just give her a chance?”

Sansa changed the subject. “Are you going to find Jon?”

Arya nodded. “It’s nearly time for the meeting. He’s had some alone time; he needs to get to the Great Hall before any of the others start to suspect anything.” Her sister moved away to let her through without another word.

She found Jon fairly easily, slumped against the huge weirwood tree next to the pool. The thought of the depth of his existential crisis made her heart break. She made her way over to him as quickly as possible. But as she drew level with him, and was about to speak, she saw something move in the trees. Frowning, she watched, as a beast the size of a small horse rambled up to Jon. Its fur was thick and white, its eyes as red as rubies. Ghost.

The direwolf continued to pad closer, and slowed to a creep as it got to Arya. Ghost tentatively sniffed her hand, before sitting back on his haunches, teeth bared in a dog-like grin.

“Jon,” she said simply, and luckily it was enough to break him out of his reverie.

“Arya,” he replied. “Ghost.” He extended one arm to the direwolf and one arm to her. She hugged him fiercely.

“I can’t even imagine what must be running through your head right now,” she started. “But we’re here for you, okay? Whatever you decide.” She decided to change back to her more general attitude. “Listen, brother, it’s nearly time for the meeting.”

He sighed softly. “I thought that might be the case.”

“Might I suggest you don’t make any big decisions at this meeting? Only, I think your thoughts are a little preoccupied.”

“It’s a good idea,” he replied, ruffling Ghost’s fur and slowly getting up. “To be honest, this meeting is just about introducing Daenerys to the other northern lords, and answering their questions. When we got to White Harbour, I sent a raven to Eastwatch to Tormund – he’s the leader of the wildlings, and yes, he’s my friend – and I’m waiting for him to get back here before we start planning anything with troops and battles. It could take him a while, given the snow.”

“This could potentially be a disaster then,” Arya pointed out honestly, as they left the Godswood and headed towards the Great Hall. “You already said everyone will be suspicious of Daenerys, given the history of her family.” She mentally kicked herself, remembering that it was his family as well, now. But if Jon had re-forged this connection, he didn’t say so.

“Aye, things could go badly wrong,” Jon admitted. “They won’t like her, save for the fact that she’s helping us. And if I defend her too much, I’ll be deemed a lovesick fool.”

Arya laughed. “You are a lovesick fool. So is she.” She laughed again as his face turned red. “Don’t worry, you won’t be the only one defending Daenerys. Ser Davos will. I will. Even Sansa will, probably, for your sake. And I’m pretty sure Tyrion Lannister can talk his way around anything.”

“Thanks, Arya,” he said, seeming genuine.

They arrived at the Great Hall just as everyone else was starting to file in, and Jon and Arya both took their seats at the high table. Daenerys sat to his right, and Arya dashed to sit at his left before Sansa, who was busy greeting people, could. Also on their table were Ser Davos, Tyrion and Bran. Brienne stood to one side, one hand on the pommel of her sword, ever watchful. Arya noticed Lord Varys and Littlefinger standing in diagonal corners of the hall, as far away from each other as it was possible to get. She frowned, trying to remember when she had last seen them at Kings Landing. She had thought they were friends. She sent Littlefinger a chilling glare for good measure as she sat down.

In the middle of the room, the other lords and ladies of the North were taking their seats, as were Daenerys’ supporters. Missandei and Grey Worm in particular looked out of place, since neither of them spoke and they were clearly still not dressed for the climate. Arya also noticed that beside her, Jon and Daenerys had acknowledged each other’s presence, but said nothing. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and thought for the millionth time how badly timed this meeting was.

The Great Hall had gone silent, yet Arya still watched. Ser Jorah Mormont entered the Hall, flanked by a couple of the Dothraki, who, Arya assumed, had been chosen to represent the army during the talks. The Dothraki both moved to sit near Missandei, presumably so that she could translate for them, but Jorah was frozen in the centre. Arya then realised why, as a slight figure stood up. Lyanna.

The cousins: the Lady of Bear Island and the disgraced knight. They simply regarded one another tensely for a moment, before Jorah made a stiff bow to her, with a hesitant “m’lady”. Lyanna Mormont simply gave a curt nod before sitting back down in between Lord Glover and little Ned Umber.

By this time everyone else had sat down and there was only the odd murmur to break the silence. Jon stood and the few people still talking hushed at once.

“To begin this meeting on a happy note,” he started. “I am glad to announce that another Stark has returned to Winterfell, having survived exile, capture, and other hardships. Arya!” He looked at her.

Arya did not feel like making a speech or looking the hero, but she got up nonetheless and smiled as some people in the hall cheered. She sat down again as soon as they stopped, decidedly preferring to be a witness rather than a participant.

“I think we can all agree that this is a nice touch of joy in this time of danger. As most of you know, I asked Tormund Giantsbane and the rest of the wildling forces to man the Wall at Eastwatch. Before we begin making other decisions about the locations of troops and finalising battle plans, I think it would be a better idea to have him with us, since the wildlings know the terrain better than anyone.” This was met with murmurs of assent. Arya watched Missandei whisper a translation to the Dothraki, who also nodded their heads.

“Of course, the main purpose of this meeting is to introduce our new guests and allies in the war to come,” Jon said, glancing to his right. “May I introduce you all to Queen Daenerys Stormborn, the Mother of Dragons.” Arya realised he had skipped over most of her other titles, but also knew that the more that were highlighted, the more the lords had to be sceptical about. Daenerys then stood.

“My lords and ladies, it is a great pleasure to meet you all,” she spoke, her voice devoid of any fear. Arya smiled at her. “I know how many of you feel. I know from common sense, as well as from speaking to your king, that many of you are suspicious of me and question my motives here. I am not here to conquer or belittle. I have come to help and save. I know who my father was, and what he did. I know the Mad King earned his name. But I am not my father, and on behalf of House Targaryen, I ask for forgiveness for all of the crimes he committed against the northern houses.”

Arya was awed by her bold speech, but knew it would have done little to shift the attitudes of the stubborn northerners.

Lord Manderly stood and peered at Daenerys, mouth twisted. “And how about after the dead are defeated? What then? How do we know you won’t use your remaining forces against us?”

Jon stood and Arya resisted a smile. “My lord, I appreciate your concerns but I really think we need to face one thing at a time. Without Queen Daenerys and her forces, we don’t stand a chance against the Night King. But with the Dothraki, the Unsullied, the other southern forces that are preparing to travel north, and especially with three dragons, we might just be able to win. And if we do win, if, then we can cross that bridge.” Manderly glared at Daenerys again but sat down.

Lord Glover then stood. “Your Grace, I must say I agree with Lord Manderly. How can we trust Queen Daenerys? How can we be sure that she will stick to her word?” As the question sunk in, Arya decided she had had enough of people asking this question. Frustration made her stand, and Jon and Daenerys both looked at her in surprise. Littlefinger wore a stupid little smirk, and Sansa looked agitated.

Arya stared right at the older lord, then looked around the hall. “Whatever you think of Daenerys is up to you,” she started, her voice as cold as steel. “But here’s the truth. She could be sat in the sun in Kings Landing right now, comfortably holding court without giving us a second thought. But instead she has travelled thousands of miles to join us in this fight beyond the Wall. Isn’t that good enough for any of you?” She surveyed the hall again, to dead silence and the odd frown. She noticed Lyanna Mormont hanging on to her every word.

She continued. “Shall we consider the alternative? What do any of you think would have happened if it was Cersei on the Iron Throne? Do you think she would have sent anyone to help us? Because I don’t. Even if we did get into the situation where Cersei came to Winterfell, her armies wouldn’t be peacefully setting up tents outside and helping us. They would be inside our halls, killing us all. I know as well as any of you the history between the Starks and the Targaryens, but if we are to be successful in the months and years to come, we need to put that aside and start afresh.” She sat down and glared at everyone, almost daring anyone to contradict her.

It was Lyanna Mormont that stood. “I must say that I agree with Arya,” she said, her voice a lot smoother, yet harder than Arya’s. “Queen Daenerys is the best chance we have in fighting this war. King Jon went to Dragonstone with the knowledge that he could be refused help, or even imprisoned. Yet he went all the same and came back with a lot of allies. None of us should be complaining.” Now, some of the other lords were murmuring in assent.

“My lords and ladies, our next step is to start pulling together resources: food, drink, clothing. Any materials. Thanks to Queen Daenerys we have a tremendous amount of dragonglass, which our smiths are beginning to forge weapons from. More shiploads are on their way.” More people muttered in agreement.

Arya zoned out on the rest of the meeting, wishing it was over so that she could continue speaking to Jon. No one else questioned Daenerys’ motives, so Arya was quite bored listening to people talking about wagons of grain, and the transportation of fabrics for clothing. Therefore it was a relief when Jon deemed the meeting over, and the other lords and ladies began to file out. Arya noticed Lyanna eyeing Jorah curiously, though she said nothing as she left. Arya was keen to get out and talk to Jon.

However, Jon walked straight out of the hall as soon as everyone else had gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are really moving forward now!  
> I have made the decision not to include the Long Night in this fic, mostly because I cannot write battle scenes to save my life and also because I don’t think I could portray it in a way that would do it justice.  
> That said, I have also decided that this fic will be 23 chapters long, meaning only five more are to follow. This is due to the fact that I have a new idea for the next fic I want to write (spoiler alert, it’s a Jonerys one set in season 7/8 (again)), but I want to finish this one first.  
> Anyway, thank you all so much for reading; your continued support on this work means the world. The comments I got on the last chapter were so lovely, I’m so glad that you liked it.  
> The next chapter will be in Dany’s POV.  
> Thanks for reading again, let me know what you think. Until next time.


	19. Chapter 19 - Daenerys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES

The ending of the meeting with the northern lords and ladies rendered her speechless. While she had previously regarded Arya as a good ally, someone to be reckoned with for killing Cersei so quickly and quietly, and a good sparring partner and trainer to boot – she hadn’t expected her to come to her defence so readily. To argue her case with these lords, and make them overlook who she was. She was amazed.

Yet her amazement about Arya was met with her confusion and turmoil about Jon. Or was it Aegon now? She doubted he would want to change his name after getting this far in life known as Jon.

Dany was surprised more than anything. She had thought for so many years that she was the last dragon, all alone with no family to guide or protect her, only the few friends she had met and lost along the way. Yet she had had a nephew, in age with her, tucked away in the North of Westeros all this time. She wasn’t the last dragon. The Targaryens were not near extinction. A small section of her mind nagged that, as her brother’s son, his claim to the Iron Throne was stronger than her own. Yet Dany knew Jon now. Seen him with the people he ruled. Seen his family. He was strong, honourable, yet reluctant in power. She knew, deep down, that it was very unlikely that he would even want to sit on the Iron Throne. But if he did… Daenerys wasn’t sure what she would do. Let him have it? Ask to rule together? She remembered the night before and the way Jon had kissed her. He would probably be disturbed at the thought of this now, she realised. Not that it mattered to her. She knew that the Targaryens had married brother to sister for centuries, and knew that an aunt and nephew relationship had to be better.

She would have to talk to him, she realised. But when?

As soon as the meeting was over, Jon had left – practically run – from the hall. After a few seconds, Arya had followed him. The two of them had grown up together and been very close; Daenerys figured that she would be able to help him more at the moment.

Part of her did feel a little upset though. On the road to Winterfell, Jon had promised that they would speak in depth about battle plans, weaponry and other things after she had been introduced to the rest of the northerners. She had looked forward to it, keen to be ready and prepared, yet he had run away without a backwards glance.

She noticed many of her own supporters seemed to have left too. Tyrion had told her he would stay back for a few days; he was despised by many of the northerners and was aware that if he told her what to do all the time then they would pick up on it. Yet he had just left… presumably to go and drink the Winterfell cellars dry with someone he used to know. Missandei and Grey Worm had disappeared, presumably to report back to the Dothraki and the Unsullied respectively.

Sansa had left the minute she saw that the alternative was to be alone with her. Bran too had said he would go straight to the Godswood after the meeting to go and spy on the Wall. Therefore, Dany was all alone.

But not for long.

Hearing footsteps pass through the hall made her turn around to see Samwell Tarly hurrying past, arms full of books. Yet when he saw her, he made the effort to bow awkwardly.

“Are you alright, Your Grace?” he puffed. “Not lost?”

“No, no, I’m fine, thank you,” she replied. “Well, a little. Do you know where Jon might have gone?”

Sam looked pensive. “No idea. I’m sorry. I’ve only been here a few weeks ago myself, and Jon never told me much about where he spent his time at Winterfell, save for his time in the yard with his brothers. Bran would probably know, though,”

She nodded. “Perhaps.”

“I know he’s had a fairly big shock to the system,” Sam said seriously. “And I don’t think Bran’s indifference is helping. But he’ll come back, and carry on. He always does.” Dany was sure he was also referring to Jon’s literal death. She nodded again.

“That’s a lot of books,” she said, indicating the vast stack.

“Yes, Your Grace,” he replied. “Some of these are the oldest volumes in Winterfell. I figure as much information as we can get about the Long Night, the better our chances.”

“It’s a good idea,” she agreed. “My Hand, Lord Tyrion is a keen reader. I think he brought a few books from Meereen and Dragonstone with him.”

“The more the merrier,” he said, smiling.

“Well good luck,” Daenerys said. “With your reading.”

Sam grinned, and bowed again. “Good luck finding Jon.”

Dany eventually left the hall. No one stood in her way. She wandered aimlessly around the halls, trying to learn her way around the castle; also hoping to find a familiar, preferably friendly, face – Tyrion, Missandei, even Varys…

She turned a corner into yet another dimly lit stone passageway and found Arya going the other way.

“Did you find him?” Daenerys asked her straight away.

“Yes,” Arya said, though she sounded a little miserable. “I tried to talk to him, but it just went in one ear and out the other, I think.” Dany nodded. Arya then motioned for her to keep walking and they detoured through the castle into a quiet passageway. Dany realised this conversation was to be important, and not overheard.

“I mean, it’s a big deal,” Arya continued, as though there had been no pause. “Pretty much his whole life has been a lie. And Eddard Stark, thought of the most honourable men in Westeros, the liar.” She shook her head. “I just can’t believe he didn’t tell our mother, Catelyn Stark. She hated Jon the whole time – all for nothing.” Dany frowned. She hadn’t known this.

Arya looked at her closely. “I told Jon, and I told Sansa, that you probably wouldn’t care too much about it. That you’re already on the Iron Throne, and Jon wouldn’t want it, so there won’t be any political problems. I was right, wasn’t I?”

Dany nodded. “You were. Besides, as you have also insinuated, there are far bigger problems looming than a chair made of swords at the moment.”

Arya thought for a moment, then cocked her head to one side. “Do you think some of the swords in the Iron Throne are Valyrian?”

Dany thought back to her lessons, and to her own recent experiences. “They didn’t look Valyrian,” she said. “Not the way Dark Sister does. Besides, I think the Iron Throne is made from swords that were fused together using dragonfire, whereas Valyrian steel is –”

“Spell-forged,” Arya finished. “A pity. We could do with a few more.”

“Arya,” Daenerys thought suddenly, and spoke. “How do you feel about the news?”

Arya shrugged. She honestly looked as though she hadn’t paid it much thought. “My worries are for Jon, both in terms of how he now perceives things, and how the reactions of others will affect him,” she said. “As for me? I don’t care. He’s still my brother, in all the ways that matter. All I’m going to do is refuse to call him Aegon.”

“Why?” Daenerys asked her.

“I’ll end up nicknaming him Bacon. Besides, Jon suits him. He’s been called Jon his whole life. He is Jon.”

It took Dany a while to understand. “Oh, Arya!”

“I don’t want to offend you, obviously, since Aegon’s an important Targaryen name, but I just don’t think it’s really something that fits.”

“It’s fine,” Daenerys said, with a wave of her hand. “I’m almost glad you’re mostly indifferent. Maybe between the two of us we’ll be able to talk some sense into him.”

Arya nodded, then looked more sympathetic. “How do you think things will go between you two?”

“How do you mean?” Dany asked.

“It doesn’t take anyone smart to realise your relationship is more than just tolerant allies,” Arya said, shrugging. “And obviously, you’re related now.”

“You probably know that that doesn’t matter so much to me, given the history of my family,” Daenerys answered. “As for Jon… who knows?”

Arya clucked her teeth. “Fair enough.”

“I was thinking of going to find and try to talk to him,” Dany admitted.

“Go for it,” Arya said. “Good luck finding him.” She suddenly grinned. “Don’t use Bran, though. That’s cheating.”

Dany laughed with her, then became more serious again. “I also wanted to thank you, Arya, for earlier. For defending me against all of them. I certainly wasn’t expecting it, but I think it did a lot of good.”

“They just need to get over themselves,” Arya said, rolling her eyes. “Who cares if you’re a Targaryen? We’re probably all going to end up dead soon anyway.”

“A great optimist, you are.”

“Everyone knows it. Anyway, go and find Jon. I’ll see you later.” She didn’t curtsey, just headed out of the passageway. Dany was almost glad for it; she was glad someone here was comfortable around her. Although a part of her was a bit unnerved that Arya had just left her. 

She began wandering around the castle again, not having a clue where she was, where anything she knew where was, like the Great Hall or her own chamber, or any idea of the direction she was heading. She went around towers, up and down stairs, until she was well and truly lost. What she did notice was that the passages were getting considerably darker. Dany knew that it was still only early afternoon, and that even by Winterfell’s standards it couldn’t be getting dark yet. Therefore, this made her realise she must be underground, and a distinct lack of windows seemed to prove her theory.

Eventually, Daenerys found herself in a long space, with nothing but a single door. She pushed it open and was relieved to find some candlelight. Perhaps she wasn’t completely lost after all. She could find her way back using the light…

It was then that she got a small shock. Something big and very fluffy bumped into her from behind, making her turn at once. Her chest constricted when she noticed the thing in front of her. It wasn’t a dog. She doubted it could even be a wolf, since it was so big. Nothing but a huge mass of white fur. The beast had red eyes, which in the candlelight looked very unnerving. Dany gasped, sure that the thing was here to guard, and possibly maim anything that came into its path. But the creature did not attack. Instead, it gradually approached her. Dany tried to relax. Viserys had once told her that dogs could smell fear, when she was very young and cried when a small hound in Pentos had run over to her and scared her. But this thing wasn’t seeming to try and scare her. It sniffed her, gently, and licked her wrist after a few seconds. Then it bounded a few paces backwards, looking over its shoulder to see if she was following. After a few seconds, Daenerys did follow the beast, solely out of curiosity.

It led her down another passageway. Dany mostly watched her steps, not wanting to trip on her dress or risk stepping on the creature should it stop. But when she noticed her surroundings it startled her: there was nothing to see but rows and rows of stone statues, lining every part of every wall.

After a few minutes, the large animal stopped moving altogether. Dany noticed why – a lone figure stood at one end, just standing there. She looked at it, then back at the person, and began to cautiously make her way over.

About ten paces away, the creature let out a ferocious sounding bark, making Dany stop in her tracks. But the voice that answered it was friendly and familiar.

“What have you found now, Ghost?” Jon said gloomily. He turned, and did a double take when he saw Daenerys. “Or should I say, who?”

“Where are we?” Dany asked, looking all around her.

“This is the Winterfell crypt,” Jon said, very quietly. He looked at the creature. “And this is my direwolf, Ghost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felt like putting a cliff-hanger on this because I’m cruel and because why not.  
> Thank you for reading; let me know what you thought of this. The next chapter will be in Jon’s POV and will pick up where this left off. I will try to update asap.  
> Don’t forget to review! Thanks again, until next time.


	20. Chapter 20 - Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net!
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES

It didn’t surprise Jon that Daenerys had tried to find him. Part of him felt bad that he had just left her in the hall, but assumed people would want to talk to her, or his siblings could cover for him. Now, he watched her tentatively pet the wolf. Ghost had left him a couple of minutes before, presumably sensing another’s presence.

Jon had wanted to go to the crypt, and been annoyed that the meeting had stopped him from doing so, although he knew what had to be done and did it. But after that, he thundered down to the Winterfell crypts as fast as he could. He wanted to see Lyanna. To look at the statue for hours, in the hope that the activity would make him feel more at peace. He remembered how his father, no, his uncle, always paid a visit to the crypts, then the Godswood, whenever he returned to Winterfell. It also hurt Jon that Ned Stark had never told him the truth. The next time we see each other, we’ll talk about your mother. His words hung in Jon’s mind. It wasn’t his fault that he had died before getting to see Jon again, but why he couldn’t have told Jon before frustrated him.

Now, he turned and faced the woman who was now his aunt. She stopped scratching Ghost behind the ears and took a step closer to him.

“Jon,” she said quietly, intimately, and it was wrong, so wrong. “You can’t hide from all of us forever.”

He shook his head. “I suppose not.” He looked down. “I’m sorry for taking off.”

Daenerys nodded. “It’s alright,” she said, softly. “I don’t think the other northern lords and ladies noticed that anything is amiss. But your family are worried about you, and so am I.”

“Daenerys,” he whispered. “I want… I need you to know that I do not want the Iron Throne and I have no interest in fighting for it or taking it from you.”

She looked at him as though surprised. “Jon, I know. Arya told me… and besides, I’d worked it out for myself. You’re not the person to seek power out, people freely give it to you because they trust you and they know you are the best chance they have.” She looked at him closely. “I know it’s a lot to take in, and I can understand how you feel, but Jon, this isn’t necessarily the worst news in the world.”

He shook his head. “If the northern lords find out…”

“They won’t,” Daenerys told him firmly. “I haven’t told anyone, and I won’t unless you want me to. Sam, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Davos – they won’t either.”

Jon sighed. “They will eventually. If we all survive the Long Night, I will have to tell them. It’s only right that they know the truth.”

She unexpectedly smiled at him. “That’s why.”

“What?”

“That’s why it doesn’t matter too much. Whenever I’ve asked anyone, except for Viserys, about Ned Stark – all they’ve told me is how honourable he was and how he always told the truth.”

Jon huffed. “Except to me.”

Daenerys gave him a hard look. “Jon, he was trying to protect you! Surely you must have known of Robert Baratheon’s vendetta against our family? He hunted down Viserys and me for years, and we were hundreds of miles away in Pentos. How would he have reacted if he knew his best friend was concealing Rhaegar’s son? He would have killed everyone in Winterfell to get his hands on you. Then he would have killed you – and then where would the North be? Still in the hands of the Boltons.” She cleared her throat. “Besides, what I was trying to say, is that even if Ned Stark wasn’t your real father, you’re enough like him.” She took his hand, making Jon’s breath catch in his throat. “And as for me? I don’t mind. If anything, I’m excited, since I thought for so long that I was the last Targaryen left.”

“You wouldn’t have been the last one anyway,” Jon told her. “At least not until the last couple of years.” He then proceeded to tell her about old Maester Aemon. When he was done, she looked at him curiously.

“Do you think he knew?” she asked. “About you?”

“I don’t think so,” Jon said, thinking hard. “If he did, he never said anything, and he had plenty of opportunities.” 

He looked back to Daenerys, who was now looking at Lyanna’s statue. “It’s lucky that you looked like her, rather than my brother. You could fit in with the Starks and be concealed easily, with your dark hair and grey eyes. If you had silver hair or violet eyes, everyone would have known exactly who you were.” She turned back to him, looked very solemn, almost shy.

“What’s the matter?” he asked her.

“Last night, you told me you had a very deep affection for me,” Daenerys said softly. “Please don’t tell me that’s changed due to this new information.”

Jon sighed, knowing this would have to be a topic of discussion sooner or later. “I really don’t know, Daenerys,” he replied. “I guess my feelings haven’t changed, but my attitude… I don’t know. You’re my aunt.”

“We’re Targaryens,” she reminded him, gently. “You might be my nephew, but I know my own feelings haven’t changed. If anything, they’ve grown stronger.” She gave his hand a compassionate squeeze. “I know it’s still incest, but it’s not as bad as, say, Jaime and Cersei Lannister, surely? For starters, we met as adults, instead of growing up together. It’s also not as if we knew anything about our shared blood until this morning.”

Jon nodded along with her, having to admit to seeing reason to her argument.

“In addition, we also have a war to go and fight, soon,” she added. “A difficult war, in which it will be miraculous if either of us, let alone both of us, survive. Can’t we just enjoy life while it’s still relatively decent?”

Jon nodded.

“The only thing I will say, with this new information in mind, is that if I do not survive the Long Night and you do, you will need to take over the Iron Throne,” Daenerys said seriously, taking another step forward so that they were just centimetres apart. Her voice became softer. “It belongs to our family, and we cannot lose it just after getting it back.”

“Daenerys –” he began, keen to talk her out of it.

“Jon,” she cut across him. “Please?”

He made the mistake of looking into her eyes, the violet strangely yet beautifully lit in both the darkness and the candlelight. Her head was tilted to one side, pleading. He had to remember that she had spent half her life fighting to get back to Westeros. But the North was his home, not some stuffy castle in the south or a chair made of swords.

“Fine,” he agreed reluctantly after a couple of minutes. “But let me be clear, if you are killed in this war, the chances are I will have already been. I’ll be on the ground, as well as on Rhaegal, whereas you’ll just be on dragonback.” He was going to say more but stopped as Daenerys wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close.  
“I don’t want to think about battles or dying for the rest of the day,” she murmured in his ear. Jon hugged her back.

“Neither do I, but it seems as though I just can’t stop,” he said honestly.

Daenerys pulled back enough to smile at him. “You’re far too serious, you are,” she said. “When the dead are defeated, what do you think you’ll find to brood over then?”

“Well, the northerners’ reaction to finding out I’m secretly a Targaryen for starters,” he said, but smiled back. “And after that… well, whether I can teach Ghost to breathe fire or something.”

Daenerys laughed and they hugged for a bit longer. It was as they continued embracing that Jon realised. He didn’t have to choose. Ned Stark had been his father in every way that mattered. He could be a Targaryen and a Stark.

“This just makes me feel even more glad that I found you,” Daenerys said, resting her head on his shoulder. “And even more annoyed with myself that I clashed so much with you when you first came to Dragonstone.”

“We didn’t know each other then,” Jon told her. “Besides, what would you have done if I turned up there and told you I was your nephew? You would never have believed me.”

She grinned at him. “That’s very true.” She pulled away. “I’m glad to see that you’re… coping a little bit better with this.”

“I’ll be fine.” Jon was eager to reassure her. “Like you said, it’s just a lot to take in.”

“Arya seemed very worried about you. I think she needs more reassurance that you’re going to be alright.”

“I’ll go and find her now,” Jon said. “I meant to, you know. Find you and her, maybe Sansa and Bran too and talk things through. But I just wanted to come down here and see her statue.” He looked up at his mother’s grave one last time, then extended an arm to Daenerys. “Let’s go.” They left together, the white direwolf hot on their heels, keen not to be forgotten.

After a few minutes, they decided to split up to search for Arya, deeming it would be quicker since neither knew where she had gone. Jon looked in the yard first, but found only Sam.

“There you are!” his best friend said. “Everyone is so worried about you!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Jon insisted. “Have you seen Arya anywhere?”

“No,” Sam replied. “Are you and Daenerys alright? I could tell just by looking at you both that you seemed… close.”

“We’re fine,” Jon said, wishing his face wasn’t flushing. “It’s just… weird that we’re related.”

Sam grinned. “It’s a good job Gilly isn’t hearing you right now. She’d be calling the pair of you amateurs.”

Jon groaned, remembering the nature of her past relationships. “I feel like this is a very different scenario.”

Sam gave him a sympathetic look. “I mean, if you go back far enough, we’re all related. I’m related to Daenerys, very distantly.”

Jon looked at him curiously. “How?”

“Remember Shireen Baratheon? She’s my second-cousin on her and my mother’s side. And her great-grandmother was a Targaryen.”

Jon shook his head. “Not by blood then – I was scared for a minute you were going to tell me you were my cousin or something. It’s a bit complicated.”

Sam grinned at him. “Life seems to be a bit like that of late, doesn’t it?”

Jon began thinking of something to say as a reply, but didn’t need to, as both of them now heard shouts coming from the gate and the sound of other people running.

“What on earth could that be?” Sam asked.

Placing a hand on the pommel of his sword, Jon replied, “Let’s go and find out.”

The two of them ran to the gate to find a crowd around the door. The crowd consisted of Unsullied, Dothraki and Northmen alike and it was impossible to see what was going on. Out of nowhere, Arya darted out from the crowd.

“Oh good, you’re here,” she said shortly, though her eyes were sympathetic. “Don’t worry, Sansa’s sorting it.” It was then that Jon saw two men being taken away by guards in the direction of the dungeons.

“What’s happened?” he asked her, imagining a full-scale brawl taking place between some of the men.

“Unexpected and unwelcome visitors,” Arya said, and her eyes glimmered murderously. “If you and Daenerys agree to it, I might have some fun practising my skills on them.” It was then that Jon remembered that she was now a fully trained assassin, and a pang of discomfort hit him in the stomach. He also noticed that Sam looked fearfully at her.

Jon began to push through the crowd, that was now dispersing somewhat.

“Get out the way!” Arya hissed ferociously behind him. “Make way for your King!” It was then that a path was cleared instantly and Jon hurried forward to find Gendry, Davos, Sansa and Missandei standing in the middle, the latter two looking a little shaken.

Jon looked at each of the unusual group. He noticed Gendry had a forming bruise on one side of his face, and a cut on his arm. “What’s going on here?”

“Riders at the gate,” Sansa explained. “Jaime Lannister of all people came riding in, with companions.”

“It was his companion that hurt Gendry, Lord Snow,” Missandei added, earning herself a glare from Sansa.

“Did any of you notice any other riders enter with them?” Jon demanded.

“About a dozen,” Gendry said.

“Lannister said there was more to follow, a few days behind. The ones that are here have already been taken to the dungeons.”

Jon thought for a few seconds, then decided on action.

“Gendry, go with Arya. She’ll take you to Maester Wolkan and get those injuries seen to. Sansa and Davos – you follow and go to the dungeons. Find out any information you can from the other men and meet me in the Great Hall in half an hour.” He paused and looked to Missandei, who still appeared uneasy but was listening with rapt attention. 

“Missandei… I know you don’t take orders from me. But if you could find Tyrion and Varys and tell them what has happened…”

“I’ll do it,” she said. “But what about Queen Daenerys? If any of them escape, she could be in danger.”

“They won’t escape,” Sansa began to retort.

“I know. Which is why I will go and find her. If we all meet in the Great Hall, we can decide the next course of action.”

“What, aside from killing Jaime Lannister and keeping the rest for soldiers? Sure,” Arya said. “C’mon Gendry.”

The group split up and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading again! Please don’t forget to leave a review!  
> The next chapter will be in Arya’s POV and it will be nice and long since it will be her last one. Might be a little while until the next update though because I am so busy!!  
> Until next time.


	21. Chapter 21 - Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net!
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES

Arya turned away from the window of the empty courtyard of Winterfell to watch Maester Wolkan applying a pasty salve to Gendry’s arm, where the edge of a sword had cut into him. She glowered at the thought of someone trying to hurt him, and he hissed in apparent pain at the sting of it.

“You are otherwise feeling well?” the Maester asked him, eyeing the forming bruise on his jaw sceptically. “You weren’t hit directly on the head?”

“No, Ser,” Gendry said, clearly not knowing who he was. Arya saw the lightest touch of amusement on the Maester’s face.

“Then I must say you likely have had a lucky escape. If you are still in pain this evening, come and find me again.” He bowed to Arya before leaving the room.

Arya looked straight at Gendry. “How did it happen?” she asked. She had been wandering around Winterfell trying to find Jon, or Daenerys – or both – but hadn’t been lucky. When she had heard a lot of footsteps, she had joined the crowd and only seen Gendry reel backwards as a larger group of guards came to the scene. Arya scowled again. “Was it Jaime Lannister that hurt you?”

“No,” Gendry answered. “It was the man who was right next to him. I think I heard someone call him Bronn. I think I’ve seen him before, before I went with you.”

Bronn… Arya thought. The name sounded familiar to her, too. Perhaps Tyrion had mentioned him over dinner while they were at Dragonstone.

“We shall soon see,” she said edgily. “He came into our castle and attacked you.”

“A dead man, then,” Gendry said, smiling at her teasingly. “Let me guess, a sword through the heart and a knife around the edges of his face?”

“If Jon lets me I’ll kill him and Jaime both,” Arya said grimly. “Not just for you, for all of us.”

“So no, then,” Gendry said. Arya glared at him. “I don’t mean to undermine you, but Jon needs every last person to fight in a few weeks, doesn’t he? He’s not going to let you kill anyone left alive yet.”

“That’s true,” Arya conceded dispiritedly. “How are the dragonglass weapons coming along?”

Gendry genuinely smiled. “Very well indeed.” He then lowered his voice secretively. “I haven’t just been making weapons, either. You, Lady Sansa, Queen Daenerys, Jon – plus a few more – I’ve made full armour coated in it too. Under the leather of course, but that’s designed so you can remove the layer. How about it?”

Arya grinned. “Sounds good.”

“Me and the other smiths almost have enough spears for all of the Unsullied. The Dothraki have a few of their own smiths and are nearly done coating all of their… weapons in the stuff.”

“Good,” Arya said. “Well, I guess the busy spell will be nearly over for you. You’ll be able to rest a bit when we all head off.” She had noticed her friend had been looking tired lately, with all the extra work.

But Gendry looked at her sharply. “What do you mean, when you all head off? I’m coming with you!”

“Why?” Arya asked him curiously. “No offense, but you’re way better at forging swords than wielding them.”

To her surprise, Gendry just smiled thinly. “I prefer a hammer.”

Arya gaped at him. “As if! Really? Like your father?”

He whipped around in a panic, checking that there was no one around. “Hush, Arya!”

She rolled her eyes at him. “We’re probably all going to be dead soon,” she pointed out. “What’s the point in keeping everything a secret?”

Gendry looked sullen. “I don’t want us all to be dead soon,” he huffed.

“I don’t think anyone does, at this point,” Arya shrugged. “Jon and Daenerys are clearly head over heels for each other, despite –” she checked herself. “Stuff. Bran’s having a whale of a time creeping us all out with his visions. Sam’s probably read more books in the last few weeks than he has in his whole life. And as for Sansa, well… she’s probably having more fun hating on Daenerys for no good reason than she did with me when we were little.”

Gendry laughed. “It is good that the end of the world is working out for some people…” He indicated himself. “I’m enjoying myself more here than I did in Kings Landing, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, yeah?” Arya grinned. “And why’s that then? It’s bloody freezing, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s better than Kings Landing,” her friend shrugged. “Not as may hours, and while I don’t get paid here, I at least get fed and sheltered, unlike the capital. The other smiths here are friendlier, it’s less of a competition as to who can make the most or the best – it’s just about doing as much as you can. Plus,” he broke off and grinned. “I get to see you, don’t I?”

Arya beamed. “I suppose you do.”

“Come with me,” he added. “I want to show you something.”

They walked together to the forge. Once inside, Gendry moved aside a few scraps of cloth against one wall, revealing a stash of weapons. The first thing he picked up was a steel hammer, reworked to be coated with dragonglass. Arya moved closer, noticing the stag insignia on one side, also coated in the obsidian.

“This is exquisite,” she said in awe. Gendry handed it to her. “And heavy.” She gave him a light shove. “I like the stag.”

He grinned. “Thanks. But I also brought back –” He pulled out a familiar looking helm.

“You made yourself another bulls head,” Arya said excitedly. “Of course you did!”

“And as for you…” he moved over a little. “Still a work in progress, but I still have a couple of weeks before you’ll need it.” He tugged another bit of cloth away to reveal a set of armour. Arya moved closer. Exquisite, again, and coated with the dragonglass to give a shiny onyx colour. In the middle of the breastplate, two pewter direwolf heads faced each other, minute teeth bared into snarls, each tiny detail mirrored to that of the Stark sigil.

“Gendry!” Arya gasped admiringly. “This is… amazing!” She ran a finger over one of the wolves, so gently she hardly felt the metal.

“I hoped you’d like it,” he said, smiling. “As I said, I’m working on armour for a lot of others, but I’m not putting sigils on all of them.”

“Thank you!” Arya yelped, giddy with the excitement of the gift. She threw her arms around Gendry and hugged him tightly.

Gendry looked surprised, but eventually hugged her back. “So long as it keeps you safe, it’s fine.” Arya looked up at the – her – armour. From the look of it, it would cover her from neck to knee, while any helmet would prevent any head damage.

“I’ll be the safest soldier on the whole field with that,” she murmured admiringly, before pulling away. “But what about you? If you’re going to insist on fighting, you’ll need amour too!”

He evaded the question. “It’s you I’m worried about.” There was a look in his eyes that Arya had never seen before. He looked almost vulnerable. “You’ve had a few years’ experience, yes. But the White Walkers have had thousands.”

“I’ve got as much chance of survival as anyone else!” Arya retorted. “Besides, it’s probable that we’ll all die, and then there won’t be anyone left to worry about anyone.”

“But what if we all do survive?” her friend asked her, fixing her with a gaze. “What then?”

Arya shrugged. “Sort out all the other stupid politics.” She shrugged again. “Gods, I don’t know! What do you plan on doing if you survive?”

Gendry looked down modestly. “I’ll carry on in here,” he said. “I’d like to stay in Winterfell, though, if you and the others will have me.”

“Of course,” Arya said. “You’re my friend, you’ll always be welcome at Winterfell. But what if Jon and Daenerys ask you to go to Storm’s End? You’re the last surviving Baratheon, after all. They’ll probably legitimise you.”

Gendry grinned and shook his head. “Too much to think about,” he said. “Let’s get the next few weeks over and done with first.” He looked back at her. “Don’t you have a meeting with the others?”

“I do,” Arya rolled her eyes. “Anything you want me to say?”

Gendry shook his head. “You know what happened and I trust your judgement. Just remember that whatever else he is, Jaime Lannister is a tried and tested battle commander. His skills might come in handy. So try not to kill him.”

“Fine,” Arya sighed. “I’d best get going. Thanks again,” she added, looking back at the splendid armour. “I’ll come and see you later.”

“Counting on it,” Gendry said, picking up a large lump of dragonglass and crossing to the other side of the forge with it. “This work gets boring after a while.”

Arya crossed the courtyard and went towards the doors of the main keep. On her way there, she saw Baelish conversing intently with Yohn Royce. They stopped as she passed them and Baelish smiled widely and bowed his head. Arya glared back at him and went on her way, deciding he looked creepy, all while wondering what kind of plot Littlefinger was trying to hatch now. She ultimately felt glad that he wouldn’t be present in the Great Hall.

When she got there, Jon, Daenerys, Davos, Sansa, Tyrion, Missandei, Bran, Brienne and Podrick were all already there, all grim-faced.

Jon spoke first. “How is Gendry?”

“Maester said he was fine,” she said breezily, moving in towards the rest of the group. “Back in the forge already.” She noticed the look of relief on Davos’ face and mellowed a little. “He’s not in pain or anything.”

Her brother nodded. “Good.”

Before Jon could say anything else, Sansa stood. “What do you think should happen to Ser Jaime? I appreciate the need for the other men, but him…” Arya sighed loudly as she went to sit between her and Daenerys. Sansa continued. “The Queen and I are in agreement that he should pay for his crimes, but everyone else –”

Arya cut her off with a sarcastic whoop of joy. “Finally you two are seeing eye to eye about something!” she said excitedly. “Jon, can this meeting wait a day or two? By then, Sansa might actually have a friend!”

“Arya, this is serious,” Jon chided her, but his tone was gentle and he had a glimmer of humour in his eye. Arya noticed that Daenerys too looked amused, and even the stoic Missandei was smiling a little. Meanwhile, Sansa glared at her.

“Sorry,” she said unapologetically. “Anyway, yes, Jaime. Well, Cersei’s dead, so it’s not like he’s got anyone to betray us in favour of. Gendry mentioned that he has battlefield experience if nothing else.”

“He’s already tried to kill –”

“But don’t forget –”

Sansa and Daenerys spoke together, but instead of scowling at each other, they simply nodded and both stopped, indicating for the other to speak. Arya took advantage of the momentary silence.

“If he tries to harm any of us, he won’t last long,” she pointed out. “We have numerous numbers of guards and soldiers, as well as dragons, direwolves, a stash of weaponry greater than anywhere else in Westeros, probably. Not to mention that most, if not all of us here have killed before and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again if need be. But if he doesn’t, we’re fools to turn him away.”

Tyrion nodded at her, as though surprised at her reasoning. “It’s in his self-interest to be here,” he added, then turned to Daenerys and Sansa. “I beseech you both to at least find out his intentions here before any drastic action happens.”

Brienne practically threw herself out of her chair. “Your Graces, my lords, and ladies, with your leave I would speak with Ser Jaime. Despite his many previous crimes, I believe he has changed into a more honourable man.” Arya watched as Sansa looked at her sworn shield in annoyance, and she too wondered why Brienne was bothering, and with such fervour.

“It matters not, we don’t anyone to do that,” Sansa said, turning to her brother. “Bran – what can you see?”

“Jaime Lannister has committed many crimes,” Bran said after a few seconds, his eyes glazed and his voice utterly devoid of any emotion. “Some with good intentions, others not so much. But his intentions here at Winterfell are pure. Bronn released him from the black cells. Neither of them know about the threat we are about to deal with. He wants to reunite with his brother, since he is the only other Lannister left.”

Tyrion looked worried. “Do you think he believes I killed Cersei?”

Bran raised his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “If he thinks that, he hasn’t said anything.”

“Arya,” Sansa said, changing the subject. The desperation in her voice cut. “You put him in the black cells. Surely you had a plan for him?”

“A temporary measure,” Arya answered smoothly. “I was intending to leave him to whatever Daenerys decided.”

“There we go, then!” Sansa replied, looking at the dragon queen triumphantly. “It looks like he will die for his crimes after all!” Arya looked around, and noticed the pain and disappointment on the faces of Podrick, Brienne and Tyrion.

Daenerys seemed to have noticed this too. “Not necessarily,” she said gently, looking at Sansa apologetically. “As Brandon said, he has no ulterior motives here. And as Gendry said, he has fighting experience. Who knows, he may even add the Night King to the list of kings he’s killed.” Her expression softened. “I know how you feel about him Sansa, for I share your view. And if he and I both survive the Long Night, I will think again on how he will serve justice – I give you my word. But perhaps it would be smarter to use him for the time being.”

“Where are the other soldiers he brought? They might be worth questioning,” Davos pointed out.

“I don’t mind doing it, if it’ll put your minds at rest,” Arya said calmly. In truth, she just wanted to get away before Sansa started arguing again, while simultaneously doing something productive.

Jon nodded at her. “You’re good at reading people, and you know when you’re being lied to. I might suggest taking someone with you as back up…” No one, however, seemed willing for this. Brienne and Tyrion were too pro-Jaime, while too many of the others either passionately wanted the lot of them dead, or didn’t want to imply that Arya wasn’t fit for the task.

Arya shrugged. “I can handle myself,” she reassured them, then left for the dungeons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to split this chapter into two parts, since it turned out to be so long, so the next chapter will be in Arya’s POV too.  
> Sorry for the wait, I’ll get the next update out asap.  
> Don’t forget to let me know what you think! Your reviews mean the world.  
> Until next time.


	22. Chapter 22 - Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net!
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES

The entrance to the dungeons smelled musty and there was little to be seen except piles and piles of crate after crate, filled with barley, wheat, wine or unopened dragonglass shipments. Arya cautiously made her way around them and edged her way through. But when she made her way into the far end of the dungeons, she was surprised that all she could hear coming from the cells was… singing. A male voice, high and sweet, with only the slightest hint of a Fleabottom accent. A jolt of recognition went through her. It couldn’t be…

A dozen men were grouped into two cells. As Arya moved closer, the singing stopped. Then –

“Hey, it’s you!”

Arya looked into the cell. Surely enough, the group of youths she had sat with that evening in the Riverlands were the same ones sat before her. She inwardly marvelled. How could this be? Yet it was. The one with the dark hair fiddling with the fraying fabric of his shirt. The round faced one drinking something from a wineskin. The red-haired one looking directly at her.

“It’s me.” She said simply.

“Who are you? I don’t remember seeing you with us. Were you brought here too?”

“I live here,” she told them. “I’m Arya Stark. How did you lot end up with Jaime Lannister?”

But her question was drowned out.

“Arya Stark?”

“You here that, lads?”

“We got to sit with Arya Stark?”

The dark haired one moved closer to the cell door to look at her. “I’m going to guess you weren’t joking when you told us you were going to kill the Queen.”

“No,” Arya replied. “That was me, alright.”  
She was surprised to see that the soldier looked… impressed. “When we got back to Kings Landing, she was… gone. Everyone said she was dead.”

The round-faced one came closer too. “Well, here’s to,” he said, raising the skin. “My little brother and two of my cousins were killed when Cersei blew up the Sept. I can’t pretend to be sad that she’s gone.”

Arya nodded sympathetically. “She conspired and helped to kill my father, mother and brother,” she told him. “I can understand how you feel.” She looked back at the others. “How did you end up travelling with Jaime Lannister?”

“There aren’t many of us left,” the red-haired one answered. “Only those of us who were sent to keep the peace at the Twins are what remains of the Lannister army; the rest went and bent the knee to Daenerys Targaryen, or so I heard. So it’s only us that have come here. More are on the way.”

“Why did he come here with an army?” she asked them.

“We don’t know,” the round-faced one said. “Just got told. We heard all sorts of things but we don’t know what’s right. All I can think of is my dad on his boat all alone again.”

“You saw him again?” Arya asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “He was overjoyed that I was alive. I joined him for a few days, and brewed some more blackberry wine.”

Arya smiled. “And you?” she asked the dark-haired one. “Your wife… boy or girl?”

He seemed touched that she had remembered. “A little girl. Someone to look after me when I’m old. If I live to be old.”

She nodded. “What’s her name?”

“Nymeria, but we’ll call her Nym for short.”

Arya grinned. “That’s lovely.” She stood up. “I’ll try to get you out of here. The dungeons are horrible, and you deserve better.”

“Thank you, m’lady,” the red-haired one said.

She grinned at them. “I’m not a lady.” She walked straight out purposefully, and made to go and find Jon. She only knew the few in the cell, but she assumed the others would be just as innocent and lacking in information.

As she left, she remembered something the round-faced one had said when they met before. 'You should always be kind to strangers, then they’ll be kind to you'. They had given her food and wine, the heat of a small fire and the first friendly company that Arya had had in, well, years. She decided she would be kind to them.

She found Jon in the yard, watching a group of children practice shooting. Lyanna Mormont was among them, and despite her age and stature, she was doing better than all the others combined. Arya smiled to see her, being reminded of her own covert target practice as a child.

“Little sister,” Jon greeted her, hugging her and pressing a kiss to her temple, before mussing up her hair. “Did you find out anything?”

“They’re clueless,” Arya said. She then decided to tell the truth. “Jon, I met some of them on my way to Kings Landing, in the Riverlands.”

Her brother’s eyebrows shot up. “How? Why?”

Arya grinned at his surprise. “Near the Kingsroad. A group of them invited me to sit with them. They shared their food and wine with me. They were nice.”

Jon looked at her carefully. “You’re sure?”

She nodded. “Certain.”

“In that case, I will give the order for them to be given rooms,” Jon said, and moved over to a guard. Arya continued to watch the children, and it wasn’t long until her brother came back.

“It is done,” he said seriously. Then he relaxed a little. “Up for a bit of sparring practice?”

Arya grinned back. “You’re on!”

Both moved to one side of the courtyard and drew their blades. Confident that Arya was accustomed enough to his fighting style, she went straight on the offensive, but Jon parried her sword strokes with ease. They carried on fighting and it was just so easy to Arya; Jon was so honourable when he sparred with her and Arya barely had to adapt. But a few minutes later, Jon’s extra height, and size of blade got the better of her, and a particularly violent block from Jon’s sword had Needle spiralling off into the air. Arya thought about it. She could easily take out a dagger and continue the spar, while dodging far back enough to pick up her sword. But Jon started looking concerned, despite his victory.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, looking at her left wrist. “Did you get cut?”

“Course not,” she scoffed. “I consider this one-all, brother.”

“But you didn’t win last time!” Jon argued.

“Only because Daenerys stopped us before I could!”

“I didn’t get there in time today, then?” they both turned to see the silver-haired queen walking towards them.

“Hello,” Arya greeted her innocently. “Your turn?” She expected her to refuse, since Jon was so close by, but to her surprise Daenerys pulled Dark Sister from the makeshift belt at her hip. Arya picked up Needle again and readjusted the blade, prepared to go a lot easier on the untrained Mother of Dragons.

Their spar only lasted a couple of minutes and was fairly slow, as Jon and Arya both shouted advice to Daenerys.

“Keep your chin up!”

“Don’t go where Arya leads you!”

“Don’t lunge so much!”

“Try to only keep the sword in one hand!”

“Stop looking at Jon so much! That way you’ll be able to block better!”

By the time they had finished, Daenerys looked exhausted, but she still held a look of steely determination in her eyes.

“You’re doing good!” Arya told her encouragingly.

“How does anyone manage to do that?” Daenerys demanded, panting.

“Years of training,” Arya responded calmly. “And Jon started learning what you’re learning from the time he could walk. Sword-fighting takes time.”

“Think how much you’ve improved just over the last few weeks,” Jon said to Daenerys, who looked dispirited.

“Exactly!” Arya added. “Back at Dragonstone, you were struggling to hold it. You’re far stronger now.”

The Queen gave her a small smile. “That’s true.”

“I think it may be time for dinner,” Jon told them after a few moments. “I don’t know about you but sparring makes me hungry.” Arya laughed and the three of them headed to the Great Hall in search of something to eat.

During the meal, Sansa tentatively asked her if she wanted to spend time together that evening. Arya accepted at once, still keen to get to know this new Sansa Stark, as well as tease Bran. She knew she had also promised to go and visit Gendry again, but decided she would go later in the evening, at the end of his shift.

Therefore, after dinner, Arya found herself in the solar with Sansa and Bran.

“Is Jon coming too?” Sansa asked.

“No,” Bran replied. “He is with Daenerys.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and sighed irritably. “Of course he is.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I needed to speak to both of you about something.”

“Go on then,” Arya said, annoyed at the slight dig at Jon.

Sansa lowered her voice. “Have any of you noticed that Littlefinger has been… quiet, lately?”

“Yes,” Arya responded straight away. “Almost like he’s wondering what move he’s going to make next.” Her mouth wrinkled in distaste. “He’s pathetic. What does he even want?”

“To sit on the Iron Throne,” Sansa replied with certainty. “With me by his side.” Arya made an exaggerated noise of shock and disgust.

“Exactly,” Sansa continued with a grimace.

“It’s ridiculous!” Arya said, as she recovered. “How would he do that? He can’t fight, he doesn’t have an army – the Knights of the Vale are more loyal to you than they are to him from what I’ve seen and heard.”

“By manipulation and pulling strings at the right time and place,” Sansa said. “He’s the best liar there is. But I agree, it’s ridiculous. He frightens me, and I want him out of here. But I don’t know how to do it.”

“I’ll happily kill him if you want,” Arya offered. “And wear his face for a laugh.”

“We can’t,” Sansa said, scandalised. “We might lose the Knights of the Vale…”

“No we won’t,” Arya argued. “They’d struggle to get back to the Eyrie now anyway, and they probably wouldn’t survive the winter if they did, meaning they might as well stay here and help fight.”

“The Knights of the Vale are loyal to Sansa,” Bran said monotonously. “But Littlefinger, I cannot be sure.”

“What else do you know about him?” Arya asked, intrigued to the extent of her younger brother’s knowledge. “Anything else Sansa doesn’t?”

“He killed Jon Arryn,” Bran spoke. “He gave our Aunt Lysa Tears of Lys to poison him. Then he got her to write to Mother, telling her that it was the Lannisters that did it, which she believed.”

Arya seethed with anger. “So this thing,” she said. “This whole thing with the Lannisters, the war, Father, Mother and Robb’s deaths – this was all because of him?”

Bran blinked. “He certainly set the chain of events in motion. And as for Father, he betrayed him. When our men were slaughtered in the Red Keep.”

“I remember that,” Arya said, twisting her mouth in anger. “I ran away. Meryn Trant killed Syrio. Then I went and found Needle.”

“So you did,” Bran replied. “Sansa ran away too, when Septa Mordane told her to. You also killed the stable-boy. And Meryn Trant, later on.”

Arya nodded. “I did.”

Sansa gaped at her. “How did you kill Meryn Trant?”

“Messily,” Arya said, shrugging. “You don’t want to know.” She gave Bran a sharp look. “She doesn’t.”

“I do,” Sansa said, her voice like steel. “He hurt me, in Kings Landing. On Joffrey’s orders. He was awful, so I do want to know how he met justice. Another time, perhaps.” Arya marvelled again at the change in her sister.

“Littlefinger also held a knife to Father’s throat,” Bran added, changing the subject back. “Then he told him – ‘I did warn you not to trust me.’”

Arya looked at Sansa with fury. “That’s definitely enough evidence against him,” she hissed vehemently.

Sansa looked very troubled. “I didn’t know,” she whispered. “About Father.”

“I know you didn’t,” Bran reassured her, in his deadpan sort of way. “But now you do.”

“He needs to pay for what he has done,” Arya demanded. “And he doesn’t care about anything or anyone other than himself, meaning his punishment should be death.”

“I agree,” her sister said icily, looking back to Bran. “You?”

“I can’t see the future,” Bran said. “Only the past. But his past makes me fear for his future. Should he survive the Long Night, he would be disastrous.” He looked at Sansa. “Cersei made him swear that the next time he saw her; he would have your head on a spike at Winterfell. He barely hesitated.”

“That settles it then,” Arya said calmly, though she felt excited and livid in equal measure. “Sansa, he hurt you the most out of the three of us. Father used to say that whoever passed the sentence should swing the sword. He’s yours.”

“I can’t,” Sansa said. “I wouldn’t know how.”

“It’s easy,” Arya told her eagerly. “You just –”

But Sansa had put her hand up. “I’m not killing him. You can do it, or Jon, or Bran, or even Daenerys for all I care, but I don’t want to do it.”

“Alright,” Arya said. “You sentence him, I’ll do it.”

“How, though?” Sansa mused. “And when?”

“Tomorrow,” Bran said simply. “Everyone who should know about his treachery either already does or is in Winterfell anyway. And we don’t know how long we have before the Night King surpasses the Wall.”

“What do you predict?” Arya asked.

“About three weeks,” Bran replied. “Enough time for the Nights Watch to pull back and us to march to the Wall.”

“Tormund is on his way,” Sansa said. “Then I suppose we will be too.”

“Most likely,” Bran said, with the tiniest inclination of his head.

Sansa began to have doubts again. “Perhaps we should have a second opinion,” she said very quietly. “Whatever else he is, he’s a good manipulator and strategist. And it’s in his interest to help somehow in this war…”

“He would never be able to manipulate the Night King,” Bran said with a certainty.

“I know that,” Sansa said with a wave of her hand. “But –”

“Sansa,” Arya said, as gently as she was able. “You know what he’s done, why are you so hesitant?”

“I’m worried about what Jon will think,” Sansa said honestly. “He’s King in the North, it should really be his decision.”

Arya scoffed. “Jon would always support whatever we went with,” she said. “He’s Jon.”

“I think Jon would agree,” Bran said ominously to Sansa, his eyes expressionless. “Before he left for Dragonstone, he slammed Littlefinger into a wall in the crypts, and said that if he so much as touched you, he would kill him himself.”

Arya grinned. “Good old Jon.”

“Alright,” Sansa said. “Tomorrow.”

“Bran? Where actually is Jon?” Arya was grinning again. Sansa leaned in, also looking curious.

“With Daenerys, doing some dragon-bonding with Rhaegal. After what happened at White Harbour, I’m sure you’ll agree it’s a good idea.”

“Oh, seven hells,” Arya swore with a laugh.

“What happened at White Harbour?” Sansa asked patronisingly and Arya laughed as she relayed the events.

They then changed the subject to lighter topics, recalling childhood memories that were bittersweet-tinged. After about an hour Jon and Daenerys joined them, and Arya was pleased to see the distinct lack of snide comments and glares exchanged between her and Sansa. Nothing friendly, but nothing not-friendly, either. Sansa told Jon about their plans for Littlefinger, which he heartily agreed with, and Arya began to feel more satisfied about the day to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading again everyone! The next chapter will be in Daenerys’ POV but I can’t make any promises as to when I’ll be able to upload next, since it is that lovely/awful time of year of mock exams and stress. I’ll do my best though!  
> Don’t forget to let me know what you think.  
> Until next time.


	23. Chapter 23 - Daenerys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net!
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES.

The previous evening, it had come at a surprise to Dany that Jon had wished to spend some more time with Rhaegal in preparation for the weeks to come.

“If you want to, go for it,” she had encouraged him. “You are a dragon yourself, with the blood of Old Valyria. Rhaegal has chosen you as his rider. You don’t need me to come with you.” She had though, since he had pleaded. In the end, Daenerys had decided it was a good idea; if Jon had fallen again it would probably be the best if someone witnessed it. Instead of just Bran, of course.

They had gone at a much slower pace this time, and flown much lower to the ground, barely above the trees of the Wolfswood. Jon had seemed a lot more confident this time too, and seemed to bond better with the green dragon. He didn’t fall off again, and didn’t look like he was going to. Dany was pleased. So was Jon, shakily grinning when he reached the ground again.

“Well, I’m not unconscious,” he’d said, smiling widely.

“You’re not,” Dany had replied. “You did well. It’s freezing out, shall we go indoors?” And they had both re-entered Winterfell and spent the remainder of the evening with Sansa, Arya and Bran. They had been plotting, too, about killing a man called Littlefinger. Dany presumed he had been the one lurking in the corner when she had been introduced to the northerners. Tyrion had looked irritated to see him, while Varys had been intrigued and quietly watchful. She hadn’t fully understood everything she was told – Bran was vague and Arya only told the worst parts – but she knew that this man was a manipulative, sneaky criminal in disguise, as well as the cause of most of the political strife in Westeros over the years. Jon had agreed with their decisions to sentence and kill him, and then left abruptly, looking livid with the newfound information. After a while, Arya had left to find him, and Dany, feeling a little dispirited, retired for the night.

That night, Dany had a strange dream. She was walking through the Red Keep of Kings Landing. To start with she was unstartled: she was now Queen of Westeros and had walked this way many times during her short stay in the capital. But as she continued through the Keep and into the throneroom, she realised it was very different to how it had been before she left for Winterfell. No Unsullied manned the walls, no Dothraki chattered or laughed or fought outside. Only the odd, blank-faced guard stood every few metres along the corridor. They all wore Targaryen livery but none of them acknowledged Daenerys as she passed. She could not see what was going on outside, but heard horses among anguished shrieking. It sounded as though the entire city population was being simultaneously massacred.

As she entered further into the throneroom, now feeling uneasy, she saw that the Iron Throne was occupied. A smallish, roundish man with silver blond shoulder-length hair sat there. Daenerys moved closer, curious, into sight. The man looked right through her as though she wasn’t there, and Dany began to wonder if it was really more of a vision than a dream. She moved closer still, taking time to notice the various dragon skulls lining the walls, the smallest of which by the door were probably the size of Dany’s hand; the two largest, closer to the Iron Throne, looked big enough to comfortably stand in. 'Probably the same size as my dragons' she realised with a small smile.

She carried on pacing slowly along the room. “Father?” she said, quietly, hesitantly, having ascertained that this was who he must be. He seemed not to notice Daenerys walking towards him, and was unaffected by the screaming outside. Dany sighed. She knew the Mad King had earned his name.

Before she could get any further, someone ran past Dany and skidded to a halt near the steps. The impact of the collision winded her and nearly knocked her to the ground, but she barely noticed as she focused on the scene in front of her. The young man who had rushed in looked no older than twenty: tall, skinny, the white cloak of a Kingsguard draped across his shoulders. His hair was golden blond, his eyes emerald green, and in this moment, slightly widened in apparent fear. Daenerys peered at him, then nodded in recognition. Lannister.

Her father was smiling cruelly, mouth twisted and violet eyes narrowed to slits. “It is done, the order placed. I am the king! Burn them all!” He stood up from the Iron Throne and laughed like a madman.

Lannister’s eyes widened even more. “Surely this can be settled peacefully? Please!”

“BURN THEM ALL!” Aerys insisted, ignoring his guard.

Daenerys watched the young Jaime Lannister approach him, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

“Burn them all! Burn them all! Burn them in their house; burn them in their beds! BURN THEM ALL!” Daenerys didn’t understand at all what he meant, but she understood the merciless sentiment. She looked back at the Kingsguard and saw realisation and horror dawn on Jaime’s face. There was nothing Dany could do then but watch, as Lannister drew his sword, rushed towards Aerys and stabbed him in the back. Without a backwards glance, Jaime ran as hard as he was able back out of the room and Daenerys heard his footsteps echoing down the halls. She looked back in horror at her father as he slumped forward, blood seeping into his clothing.

“Burn them all,” he said softly as he died. “Burn them all!”

Daenerys shook her head. “Why?” she asked.

Her father looked up. “Burn them all…” His eyes met hers, the pupils dilated, the whites visible from the wideness, the pitiless and delirium unconcealed.

And with that, Dany woke in a cold sweat.

Seconds later, her chamber door opened and a figure came in. For a second Dany was scared that it was her father, or even Jaime, until she heard the voice.

“Your Grace! Are you alright? I heard you cry out!” It was Missandei.

Dany sat up. “Missandei! Yes, I’m fine, thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I was already awake,” the translator replied. “It’s not long until morning. I just wanted to make sure that you were alright.”

“I am alright, thank you, my friend,” Daenerys said, shifting a little. “It was just a bad dream.”

Missandei looked concerned. “It must have been.”

Dany decided to be honest. “I saw my father die. I saw Jaime Lannister kill him and run.”

Her friend tentatively moved closer. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she said, waving her hand. In truth, she didn’t want to seem so affected as she was, being that it was only a dream.

“Perhaps talking to Jaime Lannister would prove helpful to you?” Missandei suggested. “Was there anything in your dream that you didn’t understand.

The screaming. Jaime’s fear. Aerys’ words. “Plenty,” Dany replied.

“I’ll come with you if you want, and if you think it’s a good idea.”

“Maybe I will,” Daenerys said thoughtfully. “But I’d rather go alone. I should imagine you’ve got your work cut out at the moment, translating all the time.”

Missandei grinned. “It’s good fun,” she said. Her smile then wavered. “Are you sure you’re alright, Your Grace?”

“Positive,” Dany said with a smile, appreciative of her concern. Missandei then nodded and left. Dany rolled over and bed and thought about it. Not only would she find out the real reason why the Kingslayer earned his name, but it would probably make him uncomfortable, making him pay ever so slightly for it, and it would give her something to do before Littlefinger’s farce of a trial.

She was quiet as she broke fast that morning. She noticed that Jon kept trying to make eye contact, looking increasingly concerned, but she didn’t want to tell him her plans. Dany figured he would probably try to talk her out of going to talk to Jaime, to save getting herself wound up. Luckily for her, Arya and Sansa kept up a steady stream of chatter so that nobody else noticed anything amiss. Both Stark girls were calm in demeanour, but Dany could scarcely miss the excitement that shone in their eyes, in anticipation of the justice that was going to be served. Bran wasn’t with them. Apparently he was in the library with Sam, trying to find the ultimate solution to defeating the Night King, and no one was keen to interrupt them.

Arya joined her after the meal. “Are you alright? You were so quiet this morning.”

“I’m fine,” Dany said.

The young Stark rolled her eyes. “If you say so.”

“Arya,” she said. “Whereabouts are the guest rooms?”

Arya looked at her closely, as though reading her mind. “You want to talk to Jaime and Bronn, don’t you?”

Daenerys nodded. “Just Lannister.”

“Sure?” Arya said. “Alright. Just try not to kill him, no matter how much he provokes you. We’ll already have our work cut out later on.”

Dany smiled, and Arya pointed her in the right direction.

Jaime Lannister probably had the smallest guest room in Winterfell, just big enough for a small bed, a chair and a rickety desk and only a tiny crack of a window to let sunlight in. He had lit a couple of candles to improve the ambience but the lighting was still poor. He was sat on the chair, twiddling his thumbs and his face was as impassive as Bran’s with boredom.

“Daenerys Targaryen…” he said slowly as she entered. “Did they decide that you were going to be the one to kill me?”

“I haven’t come to kill you.” She realised she still had Dark Sister clipped to her hip, so she removed the blade and gently placed it on the floor. “I’ve come to talk to you.”

Jaime awkwardly manoeuvred the chair so that he could face her properly. “Alright.”

“I wanted to ask you why you killed my father,” she said softly. Now that the words were out of her mouth, Dany felt strangely nervous.

“I’ll tell you, if you tell me why you killed my sister.”

“I didn’t kill your sister,” Dany told him. She thought for a moment, not wanting to tell him about Arya straight away. “It was a Stark loyalist, presumably the same one that caused the trouble at the Twins. They heard I was close by and got word to me.”

Jaime nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “Alright. Tell me what you know about your father.”

The question threw her a little. “He was… mad and cruel. Like Viserys, but worse. He liked burning people. He killed Rickard and Brandon Stark…” she trailed off. “Insane, paranoid, but still my father. And a King. I wish I could have known him.”

The last part made him chuckle. “I’m sorry. But I don’t think you would’ve, somehow. If what you say is true, and your brother took after him, then there is no way you would have liked what you saw while your father ruled Westeros. Even Rhaegar was in inner turmoil as to whether to overthrow him. Had he been able to defeat Robert Baratheon, I believe he would have.”

Dany was quietly stunned for a second. “You knew Rhaegar?”

Jaime smiled again. “I was Kingsguard. How could I have not known Rhaegar?” He looked reflective for a moment. “Your older brother was a good man. He, like the rest of us, was calmly waiting out the rest of your father’s reign. He would have made a great king.”

“Yet you were sworn to protect my father, not my brother. And you killed him.”

“Yes, I did,” Lannister said frankly. “And, meaning no offence to you, I would again. During Roberts Rebellion, I was the only Kingsguard left guarding the King. Ser Jonathor Darry, Ser Barristan Selmy and Prince Lewyn Martell were with Rhaegar. The other three – Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Arthur Dayne were on some mission in Dorne that Rhaegar had set them. All I know is that I was the only one actually in Kings Landing. When your father heard that Rhaegar was dead, and the rebel army were approaching the Crownlands, he sent your mother and Viserys to Dragonstone for safety, away from King’s Landing but not too far away, but he employed a pyromancer to place large caches of wildfire all over the city. Everywhere: all the entrances and exits, the harbours, taverns, brothels, the hills, the Red Keep, all of it. When my father’s army arrived, newly a bunch of turncloaks when they knew of the victory at the Trident, Aerys planned to set off all the wildfire, knowing full well that every single person in the city, the Red Keep, the Dragonpit, everything – even him – would be blown to bits. He then summoned me and asked me to bring him my own father’s head, lest I be burnt with all of them.” His mouth twisted. “If someone asked you to do that, whoever it was, would you have done it?”

“No,” Daenerys said very quietly.

“Your father followed the advice of the wrong advisor. Lord Varys told him not to let my father and the Lannister army through the gates, probably knowing of their true intentions from all of his spies, while Pycelle insisted that they could be trusted, since my father was Hand of the King for a time. Aerys trusted Pycelle and the gates were opened, and my father’s army sacked the city in Robert’s name.”

“And killed my sister-in-law, my niece and nephew, I know,” Dany said thinly, the last words making her think of Jon for a fleeting moment. “Then what?”

“I chased down the pyromancer and killed him, to stop him setting it off. Then I went back to the Red Keep, to find Aerys yelling ‘Burn them all!’ over and over again. I killed him to stop him from giving the order to anyone else, or indeed doing it himself.”

“And then you ran away,” Daenerys said, remembering her dream.

Lannister’s eyebrows furrowed. “No. Who told you that?”

Not wanting to reference a mere vision, Dany said, “I just assumed.”

“I didn’t run away from what I had done,” Jaime said. “Believe what you will about me, judge me like every other person on this continent, but killing your father was not a decision I made lightly, but instinct told me it was the right thing to do, I will stick to that.” He swallowed. “As for what happened next, almost on cue of Aerys’ death, Eddard Stark walked in.”

“Did you tell him?” Dany asked. “About the wildfire?”

To her surprise, he shook his head. “Ned would’ve seen what the Lannister army was doing. He had probably heard about what happened to Princess Elia, Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon by then… He walked right in, looked first at your father, and then at me… I couldn’t have said anything. He had built his own judgement right there and then. Do you think that Lord Stark, honourable to a fault, would’ve cared to hear my side of the story?”

“So you never told anyone?”

“Not many,” Lannister replied. “My father, Cersei, Tyrion, obviously. Other than that… Robert knew some things about it, but not what Aerys had been planning to do. As for that, only Brienne knows the truth. And now you.”

“Brienne seemed very intent on you staying alive,” Dany mused. “And Bran Stark probably knows too.”

“Brandon Stark? How would he know?”

“He knows everything about everyone. He probably knows that we’re speaking right now.” Dany was intrigued to see faint surprise, then horror, dawn on Jaime’s face, and wondered what other secrets this strange man had. But she knew she had to get to the Great Hall for the trial.

The Hall was filling up as Daenerys got there, but it was mostly guards, including Yohn Royce – none of the northern lords and ladies were present. Then again, Dany reflected, they probably had little to do with Littlefinger before he came back to Winterfell after Jon’s victory over the Boltons. The tables in the hall had been pushed back to leave a few spaces to sit, but cleared the room. To her surprise, Jon was sat at a table near the back of the hall, while only Sansa and Bran sat together at the high table, with Maester Wolkan standing to Bran’s left. Jon was sat with Davos and Tyrion and was whispering to both of them intently. She moved to sit with them.

“Everything alright?” as she sat down, and ignored the hushed whispers of “Your Grace”.

“Sansa and Bran have planned out everything,” Jon told her. “I’m not exactly sure how they’re playing it, but Sansa’s asking all of us to just go along with it, and that it’ll work.”  
“Alright,” she replied, although she noticed Davos looked sceptical, and Tyrion kept looking curiously between Sansa and Jon and back again.

Daenerys had every intention of conforming with the others, but when Littlefinger entered and stood at the front to one side, she almost spoke up, especially since Arya was not yet present. When Arya did arrive, escorted by two guards and standing in the middle, Dany wanted to shout out. Why was she standing there like she was the wrongdoer? Even Jon looked a little worried. Littlefinger was smirking. Only Sansa and Bran were impassive.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered to Tyrion. But her Hand had a gleam of understanding in his eye.

“I do,” he replied softly, faint pride gracing his face. “The player is about to be outplayed.”

Daenerys turned her gaze back to the scene, now even more confused and slightly nervous for Arya’s safety. The two guards that escorted Arya now moved back to the sides, leaving Arya standing all by herself in the centre of the hall. The door was closed, leaving the only light being the dwindling candles and the sole window.

After a few more seconds, during which Littlefinger smirked some more, Arya looked to Sansa.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked, voice devoid of any emotion.

“It’s not what I want, it’s what honour demands.” Sansa, on the other hand, just sounded bored and unaffected, as though her sister was a burden.

Without missing a beat, Arya shot back, “And what does honour demand?”

“That I defend my family from those who would harm us. That I defend the North from those who would betray us.” Daenerys looked to Tyrion again, but his gaze was transfixed on the two Stark sisters.

“Alright then,” Arya replied, with the slightest edge to her voice. “Get on with it.”

After a short pause, Sansa did so.

“You stand accused of murder. You stand accused of treason.” Daenerys heart dropped. Technically both were true of Arya. She did kill a queen, even if said queen wasn’t the rightful one. And who knew how many, exactly, that Arya had killed over time? Dany didn’t really want to think about it, but her anxiety was now growing.

But it quickly abated with Sansa’s next sentence. “How do you answer these charges… Lord Baelish?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: You must’ve known I would leave this on a cliff-hanger… (although you all do know what’s going to happen next, with only a slight change from canon to reflect the different characters in the room who were not there.) Leave a review and give me some pointers of points to include. What didn’t you guys like about Littlefinger’s death on the show? How can I make it better? Let me know :)  
> This chapter is going to be the first of two parts again, similar to Arya’s previous two. I might do the same with the last two chapters as well, meaning this fic will be 26 chapters in total as opposed to the previous 23. Needless to say, the next part will be in Dany’s POV too.  
> I will try to update soon, but I do have exams coming up which hinder productivity quite considerably, I’ve found!  
> Please review and tell me what you think, a big thanks for reading and I’ll see you all next time.


	24. Chapter 24 - Daenerys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net!
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES.

The smirk on Littlefinger’s face fell so fast, Dany was sure she would have missed it had she blinked. She felt stupid. As if Sansa was going to inflict any harm or sentence on Arya! Speaking of Arya, she now turned to Littlefinger looking positively radiant with triumph. It was nice to see her actually looking so happy, despite the sinister reasoning.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. For several seconds, all Daenerys could hear was the consistent thumping of her own heart.

Eventually, it was Arya who spoke up. “My sister asked you a question.”

A moment later, Littlefinger finally staggered forward, looking nonplussed and panicky. “Lady Sansa, forgive me… I’m a bit confused…?”

As cool as icy steel, Sansa leaned forward an inch, an expression of mock concern on her beautiful face. “Which charges confuse you?” she asked sweetly, and then her voice hardened. “Let’s start with the simplest one. You murdered our aunt, Lysa Arryn. You pushed her through the Moon Door and watched her fall – do you deny it?” Daenerys noticed Yohn Royce bristling with anger.

Baelish’s voice was quiet. “I did it to protect you.”

“You did it to take power in the Vale,” Sansa contradicted him harshly. “Before that, you murdered Jon Arryn. You gave Lysa tears of Lys to poison him. Do you deny that?”

Littlefinger chortled, making Dany’s skin crawl. Clearly he was going to attempt to talk his way out of this. “Whatever your aunt might have told you while you were with her… everyone knows she was a troubled woman. She saw enemies everywhere, in everyone –”

“You got Aunt Lysa to send a letter to our parents telling them it was the Lannisters who killed Jon Arryn when really it was you. The whole conflict between the Starks and the Lannisters, it was you who started it, do you deny it?”

“I know of no such letter –”

Sansa cut across him. “You conspired with Joffrey Baratheon and Cersei Lannister to betray our father, Ned Stark.” Her voice hardened. “Thanks to your treachery, he was imprisoned, and later executed, on false charges of treason. Do you deny it?” Daenerys noticed that despite the tone, Sansa’s eyes were glassy with hurt.

Littlefinger spoke up then. “I deny it! None of you were there to see what happened. None of you know the truth!”

'Except Bran', Daenerys thought with a smug smile. 'And probably Varys.'

“You held a knife to his throat,” Bran said softly. “You told him ‘I did warn you not to trust me.’”

Baelish visibly floundered.

“You told our mother that this knife belonged to Tyrion Lannister,” Arya continued, still tonelessly, unsheathing yet another dagger at her belt. Dany’s ears pricked up as she glanced at her Hand, who was wearing a small smile and was watching the scene with jubilant smugness. “But that was another one of your lies. It was yours.” She smiled murderously.

Littlefinger almost ignored Arya as he moved to put his hands on the table in front of Sansa. “I helped you… I protected you!”

“By selling me to the Boltons?” Sansa snorted. 

“Give me the chance to defend myself,” Littlefinger said, clearly panicked. “I deserve that.”

Sansa slouched back in her seat, glaring at him, but allowing him the request. Dany would be lying if she said she wasn't interested to see how the master manipulator tried to talk his way out of his impending death.

But instead of a fantastic speech, the man practically ran over to Yohn Royce. “I am Lord Protector of the Vale and I demand you to escort me safely back to the Eyrie.”

Dany nearly laughed when the knight responded to him with a blank stare and a frank, “Under who’s decree? Tommen’s? Cersei’s? We have a new monarch on the Iron Throne, in case you had forgotten.” The older man’s eyes twinkled as they met Daenerys’.

She smiled as she stood. “I hereby absolve Lord Petyr Baelish of his title, and instead appoint Ser Yohn Royce to the position for the time being,” she said. Royce suppressed a smile as he looked back to Sansa, who nodded in acknowledgement. Arya grinned at her and Jon squeezed her hand under the table as she sat back down.

Dany barely caught the look of sheer despair on Littlefinger’s face as he turned back to face the front. He moved to the front.

“Lady Sansa I urge you to be merciful. Who would I betray the North to? Cersei is gone!”

“You would try to betray the North to the North if you thought it would work,” Sansa said carefully, with disgust.

“I underestimated the Boltons. I have admitted to that, and I am sorry. But you know I would protect you now!”

“Just Sansa,” Arya pointed out, with an arched eyebrow. “Not House Stark?”

“Lady Arya if I recall I covered for you at Harrenhal many years ago –” The hall then erupted in quiet mutterings. 'He’s struck a nerve' Dany observed. 'Wrong title, and bringing up the past again.'

“Of course you did,” Arya shot back. “If you had ratted me out to Tywin, I would have been dead or packed off to Kings Landing within minutes, and my mother would have never forgiven you. And that’s only if he believed you. It was in your self-interest to cover for me, and if I recall, you couldn’t stop yourself from dropping hints. I’m sure Bran could fill you in with the exact dialogue if it escapes your memory.” She glowered at him and stepped backwards.

Littlefinger, who was now freely perspiring, turned to the table where Jon, Dany, Tyrion and Davos were sat together.

“Your Grace,” he said, eyes pleading desperately in Jon’s direction.

Jon stood, and Dany was pleased to see that he wasn’t in the mood for forgiveness. “Thanks to you, my father was killed. Had he not been, the resulting chain of events may not have occurred I could be sat with seven Starks right now instead of three. But of course, we will never know.”

Littlefinger started, “Your sister –”

“Before I left Winterfell I told you that if you touched my sister, which counts for either Arya or Sansa, that I’d kill you myself. Be thankful that they are the ones going about it and not me.”

Dany could tell that Baelish was starting to give up hope. “Queen Daenerys… Lord Tyrion?”

“On an individual level I have nothing against you, since I do not really know you,” Daenerys spoke first, looking the pathetic little man in the eyes. “However, I do know that my Hand was imprisoned for crimes that he did not commit, and his captor Lady Catelyn Stark was falsely informed. Arya has told us that it was indeed your dagger, and not Lord Tyrion’s. I’m sorry, but my people’s enemies, as well as my allies’ enemies are also my enemies.” She made herself look away from him.

Littlefinger turned away from them and went back to Sansa and Bran.

“Lady Sansa… if we could just speak alone… I can explain everything…”

“You’ll never be alone with her again,” Jon said from the back of the hall, the authority in his tone palpable.

“Sometimes when I’m trying to understand a person’s motives I play a little game,” Sansa said coolly, and it didn’t take a genius to work out that she was throwing his own words back at him. “What’s the worst reason you have for trying to turn me against my brother and his allies?” Dany’s ears pricked up again at this. Maybe it was due to Littlefinger’s meddling that Sansa had been acting so coldly towards her and the rest of her entourage.

The older Stark girl continued. “Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve always done: turned family against family and turned sibling against sibling. That’s what you did to House Stark and House Lannister, our mother and Aunt Lysa, and that’s what you’ve now tried to do to us now. Stark versus Targaryen, Sansa versus Arya and Jon.” There was stunned silence after that. “I’m a slow learner,” Sansa said, almost like an afterthought. “It’s true. But I learn.”

Dany was surprised to see Baelish then get on his knees. “Sansa,” he said, voice cracking. He sounded like he had burst into tears. “I beg you! I loved your mother since the time I was a boy –”

“And yet you betrayed her,” Sansa said, as emotionless as Bran.

“I loved you,” he said, emotion raw. “More than anyone.”

Dany felt Jon practically bristle with anger beside her, and placed a hand on his arm to steady him.

Sansa stayed cool as steel. “And yet you betrayed me.” She gracefully rose to her feet. “When you brought me back to Winterfell, you told me there’s no justice in the world, not unless we make it.” She broke off for just enough time to nod to Arya, who was still clutching the Valyrian steel dagger with a stony expression. “Thank you for all your many lessons, Lord Baelish. I will never forget them.”

Arya began to walk forward.

“Sansa –”

It was too late. Arya had slit his throat to the bone with an easy slash and Littlefinger slumped to the stone floor with a resonating crash, blood beginning to seep across the tiles.

Daenerys’ eyes flicked back up to Sansa. Her hands now trembled slightly. “Thank you, witnesses,” she said to the guards that lined the walls. “You may leave.” Many people then got up and filed out of the hall, some muttering but most shocked and silent. After a few moments, a few servants came in to clear the blood and move the body and the remaining people convened at the back.

“Are you alright?” Jon asked Sansa, who was still a little shaky.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice contradicting her body language. “Just glad it is done.”

“I must say, well executed,” Tyrion said softly to Sansa. He glanced at Arya. “Quite literally.”

“I will go and make preparations for a pyre to burn the body,” Jon said heavily. “Davos?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the Onion Knight agreed, turning to follow Jon out of the Hall.

Arya gasped. “Wait!” she said, running after them, leaving Daenerys alone with Sansa and Tyrion.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion said softly. “I wonder if you might allow me to go and visit my brother.”

“I don’t see why not,” Daenerys said, and then turned away as Tyrion too left the room. She wanted to be alone now, to finally reflect on her own conversation with Jaime as well as what had just transpired. She also assumed Sansa would leave the hall as soon as she realised they would be alone together.

But to her surprise, Sansa stayed put.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she said gruffly. “It isn’t a common occurrence here.”

“I gathered as much,” Daenerys replied with a gentle smile. “I respect what you did, and I congratulate you for having the courage to go through with it.”

“He was a treacherous man,” Sansa said thinly. “Anyone who trusted him ended up dead. He deserved what he got.”

“Indeed,” Dany nodded. “Still, it isn’t easy. To end the life of someone begging for mercy, especially one you have known for a long time. Regardless of who they were or what they did.”

“No, it’s not,” Sansa agreed, and smiled at her properly for the first time. She turned away from the body and moved a few paces towards the doors. “In his own horrible way I believe he loved me.”

“He probably wasn’t the first. And he certainly won’t be the last,” Daenerys told her, saying the same thing Tyrion had once said to her.

“I apologise for being so cold when you first arrived here,” Sansa said stiffly. “I’m not the trusting type anymore, but even still it’s not much of an excuse.”

“It’s fine, for neither am I,” Dany said, glad that the two of them were starting to find some common ground. “I can especially understand if you had Littlefinger muttering in your ear the entire time.”

“I did,” the Stark girl confirmed. “All the time Jon was gone, and especially when we got news that he was on his way back to Winterfell with you, and Arya.” She gave a shaky grin. “It was all I could do not to have him killed before any of you got here. I’m also glad he never found out the truth about Jon. I hate to imagine what he would have done with that information.”

“It doesn’t bear thinking about,” Daenerys agreed. “Is it true that he sold you off to the Boltons?”

“Yes,” Sansa said. “The same ones that torched Winterfell, tortured Theon Greyjoy, killed my brother and helped to murder the rest of the Stark bannermen. If Littlefinger truly trusted them enough to get me to marry Ramsay then he was an idiot, if he didn’t, he was my enemy. When Jon and I took back Winterfell I swore I would never go back alive if we lost.”

“I am sorry for what happened to you,” Dany said solemnly. “I can understand what it was like. My brother sold me off to the Dothraki.”

“I heard as much,” Sansa replied. There was a new expression in her features that looked like respect. “Yet you command the Dothraki now.”

“I do,” she acknowledged. “And you defeated the Boltons, in the end. We both rose above the challenges we faced.”

Sansa smiled. “I killed Ramsay myself,” she confided.

Dany grinned back. “I killed the rest of the Khals.”

Later on that afternoon, it was said that Sansa and Arya were spending time alone together. Bran, who was now using every spare second of free time at the weirwood tree in the Godswood, had asked to not be disturbed. Thus, Daenerys found herself in the solar with Jon, a roaring fire going in the hearth.

“Tormund should be here soon, if he left Eastwatch soon after receiving word,” Jon said seriously, picking at his gloves. “Unfortunately, after that, it’s all systems go for preparing for the Long Night.”

“That’s fair,” Dany nodded. “It’s also fair to point out that that may not be for another few days. The problems with Littlefinger are over, and there is nothing much left to do about the war until we are all able to convene. Which leaves the question of what you’re going to find to mope over until then.” She smiled.

Jon grinned back and took her hand. “Well, I do already have an ongoing existential crisis to deal with.”

“How is it going? What are your thoughts?”

“That none of it matters. At least not really.”

“Wise,” Dany said. Then frowned. “Not just because we have a war to go off and fight soon?”

“No,” Jon replied. “That is a big factor, granted, but… I feel like I don’t have to choose. If I want, I can be a Targaryen and a Stark. Or I can just stick to being a Snow. At the end of the day, it’s not going to change who I am, what I’ve done, or what I will do.” He glanced at her, dark eyes beautiful and pensive. “I’m probably not making any sense.”

“You are,” she reassured him, and squeezed his hand, deciding not to press the issue any further.

“So how was your day?” Jon asked her, changing the subject with a final shake of his head. “You seemed a bit subdued at breakfast; you barely said a word. Then you disappeared. What’s happened?”

Dany decided not to evade the truth. She didn’t want to. “I went to visit Jaime Lannister.”

If Jon was surprised at the admission, he didn’t say it. “I hope he wasn’t too rude to you.”

She smiled. “No. I just wanted to find out some things. His reasoning for killing my father, for instance.” 'And your grandfather' she mentally added.

Jon’s interest heightened. “What did he say?”

Daenerys proceeded to tell him about the caches of wildfire.

“Of course, this all makes sense now!” Jon said when she had finished. “Jaime probably knew exactly where all of it was, and made the mistake of telling Cersei. I heard the Lannisters used wildfire during the Battle of Blackwater against Stannis Baratheon’s forces. Cersei blew up the Sept of Baelor with it too. That must have been where it all came from.”

“Yes,” Dany breathed. “And yet Cersei was never called the Mad Queen.”

Jon shrugged. “Maybe she was? Who knows?” He got up long enough to toss another log on the fire. Dany immersed herself in the heat, grateful for every curling flame.

The northerner grinned again as he sat back down next to her. “Warm enough?”

Dany fixed him with a mischievous smile. “Just about.” She shuffled closer and put her head on his shoulder, draping one of his arms across her back. “That’s better. Now I’m even warmer.”

Jon shifted his arm so as to embrace her more comfortably. “Me too.” He kissed the side of her head. “I do hope this war doesn’t go on for too long. I could get used to this.”

“Well it won’t even start for another little while,” Dany said softly. “And just now things are going well. Let’s just live in the moment.”

“Aye,” he agreed. Daenerys tilted her head to kiss him, and after a brief hesitation, he reciprocated. It was gentle and sweet, and Dany wanted more and more, relishing in every movement.

Perhaps living in the moment was the best advice after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, and I really do apologise for the long wait. Life is just going crazy and so much is happening, but hopefully in the next few weeks, things will get easier.  
> I hope I did Littlefinger’s death justice (somehow I don’t think I did) so please let me know what you think.  
> With regards to my own work, there is only two chapters left to go on this fic! How crazy! Both will be in Jon’s POV. After I have finished this story, I have plans to do a pre-season-one one-shot, and then plans for another Jonerys piece set in season 7/8.  
> Thanks so much for reading again, don’t forget to review. Until next time.


	25. Chapter 25 - Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net!
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES.

There were many things in life that got better the more you tried them, Jon decided. And flying on the back of a ten-tonne dragon was definitely one of them. He was sure he would be thankful for the creature’s radiating warmth and the vantage point with the altitude in the war to come. He was also currently thankful for his improving skill.

He admired Daenerys’ seemingly infinite patience with him. Over the days that had passed since their return to Winterfell, she had gone through the pronunciation of the Valyrian commands until they were both blue in the face and irritable.

“Maybe you should teach me to ride a direwolf next,” Daenerys had remarked before they had set off this time. And Jon had blushed at the euphemism.

Now, both of them touched down from nearly an hour of flying laps around the Wolfswood. Jon was comforted at the lack of activity, part of him nearly expecting White Walkers to start bursting through the trees, should the content of his nightmares prove true.

Daenerys’ cheeks were flushed with warmth, despite the biting chill. She practically beamed at him when he slid off Rhaegal’s back and straightened up.

“You did well,” she said proudly, gently patting the green dragon’s scales before he took to the skies after his brother. “You’re really getting the hang of this. You just need practise.”

“Did you fall off Drogon the first time you rode him?” Jon asked.

Daenerys laughed. “No. But the first time I rode Drogon was in very different life-threatening circumstances.”

Ghost loped over to them, accompanied by Sansa. Jon tensed a little, knowing that Sansa and Daenerys were not the best of friends. But to his surprise, both women were surprising light and easy-mannered, Sansa inquiring about the day’s events and Daenerys running her hands through the direwolf’s coat, acknowledging Sansa’s conversation with ease.

Today was to be the day of Littlefinger’s funeral, and the day that Jaime Lannister was to meet justice. Jon had decreed that Daenerys and Bran had suffered the most due to his actions, therefore they should be the ones to decide his fate. To Jon’s knowledge, the two of them had not discussed what should happen to him, but he also knew that Bran probably had an even better idea of Daenerys’ views than he did.

“I hear congratulations are in order, for managing to not fall,” Sansa smirked as they made their way back to the Winterfell keep.

“Thank you,” Jon said quietly as Daenerys laughed. Jon marvelled at the change in the two of them. Before yesterday Sansa hadn’t had a nice word to say about the Mother of Dragons. Now they actually appeared to be getting along.

Littlefinger’s body had been placed atop a small pyre of wood.

“Best to burn his body as soon as possible,” Tyrion had said over dinner, the previous night. “The last thing we all need is for these walking dead men to resurrect him.” And everyone had agreed.

Jon noticed that from the neck up, the corpse had been covered in frayed fabric. Suspicious, he glanced over to Arya who was purposely not looking at him, yet wearing the tiniest of smiles. Jon rolled his eyes, knowing that metaphorically they hadn’t seen the last of Petyr Baelish.

“Here we say our last farewell to a traitor,” Jon said at last, heavily, and trying not to sound too disgusted, once everyone had gathered around the pyre. Arya had since set fire to a large torch, and was hovering in one corner of the pyre with a grim expression.

Jon surveyed the group solemnly. “Does anyone else have any final words?”

Tyrion, to Jon’s surprise, stepped forward first. “I wish it had been you that had told Cersei my secrets and plans all those years ago,” the dwarf said to the piles of wood. “Perhaps that would have saved us all a great deal of trouble.”

Sansa then cleared her throat. “Lord Baelish will be going to the deepest of the seven hells for what he has done, with the old gods and the new tormenting him,” she said, so icily that Jon’s blood ran cold. “And if he ever manages to get into the seven heaven’s, he’ll have my mother’s wrath waiting for him. As for us, I believe our lives will be far better without him.”

Arya was stony too. “I wish it had hurt more,” she snapped with a look of contempt. “I wish I had had time to inflict as much pain on you as you did on Sansa. I wish you could feel this torch burning you away.” She murmured something else incoherently, which Jon assumed was just as vehement.

“Anyone else?” Jon asked. No one else came forward, not even Varys or Daenerys, so he nodded to Arya, who carelessly threw the fiery torch onto the pyre and stalked off without a second glance. After a few moments, the small crowd that had gathered around the logs began to disperse. The smell of burning wood, smoke and flesh started to make Jon feel sick, so he turned away.

“Let’s go back inside,” he suggested to the others. After a final glare in the pyre’s direction, Daenerys joined him and so did Sansa.

“It’s done,” Jon said to the latter. “It’s all over. He’s all over.”

“I’m fine,” Sansa assured him. “Let’s go and eat something before we have to deal with Jaime Lannister.” Jon still frowned worriedly.

“Come on,” Daenerys said, distracting him by taking his arm. “No use just standing around.” He might have imagined it, but he could have sworn he saw his sister give the dragon queen a small smile before following them.

Closer to the Great Hall, a voice made them stop in their tracks.

“Sansa!” it said. “San-saa…”

“What?” Sansa said, irritably, though she looked slightly intimidated.

Just then, a figure with the likeness of Littlefinger burst around the corner. “Sansa… hello Sansa…”

“Seven hells!” she swore out loud. “What? How?” Then she seemed to realise.

“Shan-shaaa… I need to speak with you alone…”

“Arya, stop it!” Sansa said, her eyes still wide, but a small grin had worked its way onto her face.

“But Sansa,” the voice continued, “Arya will try to kill you! And Daenerys is going to feed you to her dragons while Jon broods in a corner somewhere!”

Sansa burst out laughing in response.

“Stop yourself,” Jon told his youngest sister, but he too was laughing.

After a final, long, “San-saaaaa,” Arya finally took off the face and shook her hair free.

Sansa was almost breathless. “Arya!” she said again, shaking her head as she continued to nervously giggle.

“You should see her impression of Cersei,” Jon said.

“Cersei was much more convincing than that, too,” Daenerys added with a smile.

“Why thank you,” Arya acknowledged breezily, then hugged her sister. “I had to do that.”

“I know,” Sansa laughed. “I’m surprised I didn’t already expect it.”

“Time for our second problem of the day,” Jon said, changing the subject. “Where’s Bran?”

“Inside,” Bran himself said from the hall. The others went in and sat down.

“All done,” Arya said cheerfully to her younger brother. “Were you watching?”

“I was focusing in three places,” Bran replied dully. “I was watching what transpired in the courtyard. I was watching the Wall. And I was watching Tormund Giantsbane.” He turned his head an inch to look at Jon. “He will probably be here by tomorrow night.”

Jon nodded. “That is good to know. In that case we shall hold a meeting to discuss our strategy and the like the morning afterwards.” He glanced in Daenerys’ direction as he sat down, and saw a pained expression on the queen’s face.

Lunch was a hurried affair, since the group wanted to get the encounter with Jaime over and done with. He was brought in alongside Bronn, and some of the other men who had travelled with them. Jon was unsurprised when Arya made a beeline for some of them and engaged them in conversation. What did surprise him was how they seemed to get along so well, seeing as they had been on opposite sides when they met. He watched Arya share a laugh with a short soldier with a round face, a thin one with long dark hair, and a bright-eyed red-haired one, and lingered in a moment of brooding until he felt Daenerys’ hand on his arm.

“Ready?” she asked.

He nodded. “Do you and Bran even know what each other are thinking?”

She laughed. “He knows what I’m thinking. As for his own verdict, I honestly don’t mind.” Jon nodded again in response as Jaime Lannister himself stepped forward. His sisters fixed him with glares, while Jon sat down. Bran wheeled himself forwards to be in line with Daenerys and the room fell silent.

“Another day, another trial,” Lannister spoke first. He looked directly at Sansa. “I heard what happened to Baelish and I commend you for it.”

“Thank you,” Sansa said very thinly.

Bronn cut in. “So what’s going to happen to us then?”

Daenerys fixed the sellsword with a steely glare. “You were the one who tried to kill my dragon, if I recall correctly?”

“Aye,” Bronn replied with a shrug. “Didn’t though, did I? Saw three of the giant things swooping around the castle when we arrived.”

Daenerys opened her mouth to retort, but Jaime stepped in.

“My friend is not known for being diplomatic,” he said apologetically. “He is a sellsword. He probably thought I would give him a lordship or a castle if we won the battle.”

The dragon queen turned to look at Jon. “Are there any castles north of the Wall?”

Jon smirked. “Not yet. Perhaps when the war is won, Ser Bronn can build one there.” Luckily, Bronn then decided to keep quiet. Jon turned back to Jaime. “I have left it to Queen Daenerys, and my brother, Brandon Stark, to decide on your fate.”

After a nod from Daenerys, Bran wheeled himself gently forward and looked straight at Jaime Lannister.

“When I was younger, I used to love to climb,” he began, and Jon could see the discomfort on Lannister’s face at Bran’s monotonous speech. “I knew the walls of Winterfell better than anyone, and I never fell. Not until the day you pushed me. After that day, I could no longer do what I loved best.” He paused. “But you are the same, Ser Jaime Lannister. You used to love to swing a sword, but then you lost your hand and you struggled to do so. Your path has been no easier than mine. Had you not pushed me from that tower, I would not have become the person I have. If you had not lost your hand, you would not be the person you are today either.” Bran sat back in his chair. “As far as I am concerned, you have paid for your crimes against me.” He wheeled himself backwards and nodded to Daenerys.

The Mother of Dragons stepped forward. “Had I not spoken to you and found out your justification for doing what you did to my father… I think I most likely would have served the injustice of killing him with the justice of your death. But I will also answer justice with justice. You killed my father for a good reason. I will spare your life for a better one.”

“And which better reason is that?”

“Fighting with us in the war to come.” Jon noticed Daenerys giving Arya a sideways look before continuing. “I know you are commander of the Lannister forces. You have experience in battle, and we need you. Fight with us, and if we survive, you will be pardoned for your crimes.”

After a brief hesitation, Lannister nodded in acknowledgment. “Very well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I apologise for the long wait, but I promise I will be uploading more frequently over the coming weeks.  
> The next chapter will be in Jon’s POV and it will be the last for this fic.  
> Please let me know what you thought of this and I will do my utmost to get the final instalment of this story out very soon.  
> Until next time.


	26. Chapter 26 - Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on Fanfiction.net!
> 
> I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES.
> 
> This is the finale...

As Jon made his way to the Great Hall to breakfast the next morning, he was again greeted by Sansa.

“Daenerys and Arya are sparring in the yard again,” she informed him, but unlike before, she did not wear an expression of terror.

“You’re a lot calmer about it,” he remarked as the two of them made their way outside.

Sansa smiled. “I know they don’t mean each other any harm.” Jon smiled back at her.

Unlike the time before, there was no awed or horrified crowd around the pair, just a couple of Dothraki who were watching the spar with expressions of intrigue, and Brienne and Podrick in one corner, who both seemed surprised.

Jon continued to watch the spar; Arya fluent and quick, Daenerys still slower but vastly improving. After a few minutes, the latter aimed a clumsy blow at Arya. It shouldn’t have worked, but either by accident or to let her win, Arya was disarmed of her sword. Instead of being a sore loser, his sister grinned from ear to ear and cheered as she picked up Needle.

“Well done,” she said enthusiastically.

“You let me win!” Daenerys said accusingly.

“I didn’t.” Arya said. “I promised I never would. You genuinely beat me.”

Daenerys still looked disbelieving as Jon and Sansa approached them.

“That was amazing,” Sansa said softly.

Arya grinned at her sister. “Does that mean you’re going to let me teach you to fight, now?”

“Absolutely not,” Sansa replied. “Me and my skills will remain here, there’s no use in wasting the precious time.”

“Even still,” Arya said, as though remembering something, “Gendry wants to see you. I think he’s going to make you a set of armour as well, in case of emergency.”

“Perhaps it is a good idea,” Jon interjected, sensing the cogs whirring in his sister’s head. “It’ll protect you in case we can’t. Plus, it’ll keep him busy for a few hours.”

“I think it’s already partly made,” Arya said. “Sansa just needs to try it on.” She grinned at her older sister. “If I was you, I’d go now before he has too much time to show off and craft little direwolves on every square inch of the metal.”

“Alright,” Sansa said with a roll of her eyes. “Show me the way.”

Arya grinned at Jon and Daenerys before sauntering off in the direction of the smithy, Needle swinging loosely at her side. Sansa politely curtsied to both of them before following. Jon saw Daenerys smile at his sister too and was overjoyed that the two were finally seeing eye to eye.

“Well done,” Jon said to her. “You’re getting stronger and better with that sword every day.”

“I am,” she replied. “But that win there was pure luck, not skill. I will never be as good as Arya.”

“It wasn’t just luck,” Jon argued.

“It was mostly luck,” Daenerys countered, raising an eyebrow. “Be honest and admit it.”

“Alright,” Jon shrugged. “But that doesn’t mean your skill isn’t improving, because it is.”

Daenerys shivered with cold. Jon glanced at her, then back at the castle, fully aware that she still wasn’t fully accustomed to the wintry climate.

“Let’s go inside and get something warm to drink,” he suggested, an idea that was agreed immediately.

A few minutes later, the pair of them sat together in Jon’s solar, around a roaring fire in the hearth with cups of hot ale.

“I’ve been thinking,” Daenerys started, hesitantly.

Jon turned to face her. “About what?”

“Everything,” she answered gravely. “The war. What comes after. Us.”

“Talk it through,” Jon encouraged her, but feeling apprehensive of what she was going to say.

“Well, for starters, I figure if I’m going to be riding Drogon into battle, I won’t really need Dark Sister,” she said. “Yes, I’ll keep a couple of dragonglass daggers on me just in case, but a large Valyrian steel sword will be wasted on me, I think.”

“Alright,” Jon said, surprised but seeing the sense of it. “Who do you have in mind for wielding Dark Sister?”

Daenerys met his eyes. “Arya.”

Jon smiled. “She’ll be thrilled to pieces. Needle is a good sword, but neither Valyrian nor dragonglass- coated. Are you sure?”

“Positive,” she answered. “It’s a good sword, and she’s good at wielding one. She’ll do better with it.” Her smile faltered. “I’ve also been thinking, about what will happen after the war. After we win, and the Night King is defeated.”

“To be honest, I’ve been so focused on them, that I haven’t even begun to think about after,” Jon admitted with a wry smile. “What are your thoughts?”

“Well, you have a claim on the Iron Throne,” she said numbly.

Jon’s heart rate accelerated. "You know I don’t want it, and I certainly don’t want to fight you for it,” he told her. “Besides, you already have it. It’s still in the family.” He broke off and met her gaze. “But if we both survive, I will bend the knee.”

Daenerys smiled gently, but she looked concerned. “But what about all your northern lords?” she asked. “I know you’ll feel obliged to tell them the truth about yourself afterwards. Will they react well? If they don’t, what will happen then?”

“I would hope they all respect me enough to see past it,” Jon said. “But if not… why, Sansa will have the North. Not necessarily as a queen, but as a proper Stark.”

“And if they antagonise you beyond reconciliation, you’ll always be welcome in Kings Landing,” Daenerys said seriously. Then she laughed at the look Jon gave her. “I know. I know you prefer Winterfell, and that it’s your home. But it’s always there.”

Jon smiled back at her. “Thank you.”

That afternoon, the two of them found Arya drilling Podrick in the courtyard. Jon noticed Brienne and Gendry watching over them from opposite sides. Everyone else walking through gave them a wide berth. Daenerys had unclipped Dark Sister from her makeshift belt.

“Arya!” Jon called. “Can I speak to you for a minute?”

His sister ducked a final blow from the young squire, and spun out of the courtyard towards them, laughing. It made Jon smile. She looked ten years younger and genuinely happy when she was drilling in the yard. Meanwhile Podrick sheepishly lowered his sword and went over to join Brienne, who was now heading away from the scene. Gendry grinned at Arya and then moved off in the other direction towards the forge.

“What’s the matter?” Arya asked, clipping Needle back into her belt.

“I… have something I want you to use,” Daenerys said quietly, extending the Valyrian steel blade out to her. “For the war. You’ll do far better with it than I could.”

Arya gasped in awe. “Are you sure?” she managed after a few seconds of speechless surprise. “It’s Valyrian steel, and, well… it’s yours. It was Visenya’s, and now it’s yours!”

“Swords don’t always have to be used by the family they’re owned by,” Daenerys said reasonably.

Jon gestured to Longclaw at his hip. “Jeor Mormont gave me this, many, many moons ago.”

Arya’s serious countenance split into a wide grin. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she said over and over again.

“It’s not a toy,” Jon said seriously, the ghost of a smile pulling at his mouth. “Be careful you don’t cut yourself.”

Arya grinned at the memory as Daenerys handed her the sword.

“I know it’s a lot different to Needle, but I’m sure you’ll adapt,” the Mother of Dragons said seriously as she surveyed Arya’s grip. “You’ll need to practice every day…” She then looked bemused as to why both Jon and Arya laughed.

“Train with Brienne,” Jon encouraged her. “She spars with Valyrian steel, plus you will need the practice.”

“On it,” Arya said, and ran back to the courtyard with a definite spring in her step. Jon smiled at her enthusiasm and watched her go until he felt Daenerys gently tug on his arm.

“Let’s go back inside,” she said. “I feel like we still have matters to discuss.”

Jon linked his arm with hers. “Alright, then.”

Once back in the warm comfort of the solar, the two of them sat next to each other in front of the fire.

“What’s wrong?” Jon asked. “What have we still to talk about?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Daenerys replied. “You’ve seemed even more tense these last couple of days. I just wondered if you wanted to voice anything.”

Jon sighed. He hadn’t realised his low mood had been so obvious. “I guess I’m just deeply frustrated about the war,” he said. “Things would be a lot easier if we didn’t have to go off and deal with the Night King in less than a week.” He met her violet eyes. “I know we have the best chance possible. I know we have all the armies of Westeros and three dragons on our side. I just can’t help but worry and see this as an ultimate pit of doom.”

Daenerys looked at him thoughtfully. “I don’t think of it as an ultimate pit of doom. I see it as the final large hurdle before the rest of my life.”

“A hurdle that could potentially kill us all.”

“A hurdle that, if handled correctly, could potentially save all of Westeros for the rest of time,” Daenerys said. “As you know too well.” She smiled gently. “I think I might take a leaf out of Tyrion’s book and start planning for the long term, now. We will win, Jon. We have to.”

“And what will you do, in the long term?” Jon asked her gently. “What are your plans as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?” And he listened in awe as Daenerys spoke passionately about breaking the wheel that was spun over rich and poor. About her plans for a prosperous life for all the citizens of Westeros.

“And as you know, you are my heir,” Daenerys finished matter-of-factly. “I can’t have children, and you’re the last Targaryen.”

“And what if I get finished off by the Night King?” Jon said.

“I have faith in you that you won’t,” Daenerys said very softly. “I also have another idea.”

“Which is…?”

Daenerys’ face flushed tenderly pink. “I was thinking of a different sort of alliance,” she said. “As soon as the Long Night is over, the North will doubt me and want me out. They will suspect that I want to conquer this place. But if we were to, you know –”

“Marry?” Jon said, and a jolt of electricity spread through his stomach. A smile etched its way onto his face. “I can get behind that, definitely.” He reached out a hand tentatively, which Daenerys took. The next thing he knew, she was in his lap and kissing him. His heart raced faster than it ever had before, but he could only smile.

Entire minutes seemed to stretch by until they were interrupted by a knocking at the door.

“Come in,” Jon said reluctantly once Daenerys had disentangled herself from him.

Sansa entered, looking as though she had just run from one end of the castle to the other. When she spoke, she sounded out of breath.

“Everyone is starting to gather in the Great Hall,” she said gravely. “Tormund has arrived with information, and he’s speaking with Bran now. It’s time to make our plans.” She broke off and looked between the two of them. “I’m sorry,” she added softly.

Jon was careful not to look Daenerys in the eye as he stood up and straightened his back.

“Then let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I apologise for the long wait, but getting the ending for this story right was an important (and near-impossible) task for me. I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for all the crazy amounts of love and support for this story throughout these last few months. You guys are the BEST and your lovely reviews inspire me every day.  
> I have plenty of inspiration and ideas for some more stories, and I’ll get one of them (a little oneshot) out as soon as I have the time to write and edit.  
> Thanks so much again, don’t forget to review!  
> Until the next one x

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for reading. This is actually the first bit of fanfiction I have ever written so I beg you all to be nice if you leave a review (and please do!).


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